


To Her

by dawnsonder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Auror Harry Potter, Co-workers, Confused Hermione Granger, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, F/M, Good Parent Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Smut, Jealous Ron Weasley, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Multi, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post-Second War with Voldemort, SPEW | Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare, Slow Burn Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Suicidal Draco Malfoy, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnsonder/pseuds/dawnsonder
Summary: The Ministry of Magic announces they will be offering jobs to former Death Eaters on probation, who’ve been displaying good behaviour, as a way to settle the rest of their sentence. In the midst of this, a package of unsigned letters is delivered to Ministry employee and Director of the S.P.E.W. Sector, Hermione Granger, all of them written to her during her later years in Hogwarts.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 66
Kudos: 115





	1. The Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in a while, please leave any reviews or comments about my writing style, any inconsistencies, or if I'm writing the characters incorrectly! I'm going off of the movies, but plan to read the books soon. I am unsure of how often I'll be able to update because I'm in the middle of my 4th year of university. However, I'll try to update as much as I'm able to! Thanks and enjoy :)

A package arrived at her London flat containing Godric knows what on a Thursday evening.

Hermione was hesitant looking at the box on her doorstep. Debating on whether or not she should even be near it let alone inspect it, considering the war had ended two years prior and she on the prevailing side, she stared at it.

_Ms. Hermione Granger_

_63 St Margret's Rd_

_London, England_

No return address. She continued to stare at the curious package. Looking for a nail scratch, a dent, a rip, a tooth mark, any signs of rough handling. She tried to sense any sign of dark magic with her gut, her head, her heart, her entire magical being. Nothing.

With a soft flick of her wand, she levitated the package into the living room and set it on the coffee table closing the door behind her, already nervous about what could be inside. Inhaling through her nose filling her lungs slowly, she took a couple steps back behind a wall and cast a charm to rip the tape off the package from a distance, hoping nothing would explode and destroy her home.

She counted to ten as she hid behind a wall and after no explosion or one of the Unforgivables, she took slow steps toward the package and peered inside. A heap of letters. Confused, she took a seat on her couch and started to scatter through the letters within the box, noticing there was no returning address on any of them.

_February, 1997_

_To Her_

_December, 1996_

_To Her_

_May, 1998_

_To Her_

She assumed that these were the dates that they were written, but never sent. She searched for the earliest date she could find through the hundreds within the box.

_June, 1996_

_To Her_

She stared at the letter as she did the entire package before, curiously and intriguingly. Who would have written her letters during these years at Hogwarts? Who were her friends during these years? Of course that list didn't change, she's had the same group of friends since her early years. Who were enemies during that year?

She snorted. There were too many to count. Umbridge, Snape, the entire Slytherin house, maybe Ron, but that was a one-sided sort of hate on her own end.

With reluctance, and as always curiosity, she opened the letter and pulled the written words out of the envelope.

_To Her,_

_After all these years in a monument of magic I thought to be my home, I find myself in a box car of the train of my youth, heading back to the house (NOT home) of my youth._

_I remember being on this train in my first year. It was the first year I was able to leave the abundance of hoverers that was my family, relatives, and house elves. In a box car surrounded by my childhood acquaintances, I had more bloody freedom than I'd ever had in my entire life. I gorged in many chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties until I felt sick, and it was the happiest I had ever felt._

_I am unsure why I find myself telling you such personal anecdotes of my childhood. I have never done that with anyone, even my own mother. She would Avada me if she found out how many sweets I would indulge in._

_I had always watched you with amazement. Knowing you were muggle-born and could outsmart any witch or wizard here annoyed me beyond infinity because I was overflowing with envy. I knew my family's prejudices had been weaved into my opinions and beliefs in my earlier years, but I merely ignored it because I didn't know better. But during this past year, it become clear to me._

_I guess what I am attempting to say, poorly I might add, is that I sincerely apologize for any and all insults or discriminatory comments I made in my youth. You are no different than I am, and the very fact that I had entirely magical education my whole life prior to attending Hogwarts and you none just makes it that much clearer._

_You are a much better person and wizard than I will ever be and I hope the future rests in your favour._

_This is for my peace of mind and I have no intention on sending it, because after this summer I know I will never be able send a letter freely anymore._

_Sincerely,_

It ended there. No signature, no name, nothing to clue her into who sent this letter to her. She read the letter over and over most likely a hundred times before she set it down.

She thought and thought, her mind burned a hole in her own mind trying to think of at least 10 people who would have sent this letter in addition to hundreds more.

She stood and sighed, staring at the box of letters. She rushed toward the kitchen and poured herself a glass of fire whiskey. Who would send her such letters? Not of hate but of acknowledgment and admiration? This puzzle just became even harder.

Her floo roared with green flames and a tall, familiar ginger swept through.

"Ron!" She gasped and squealed excitedly dropping her glass onto the counter, running towards him and jumping into his arms. He had been away helping his brother Charlie with taming dragons temporarily here and there and it had been at about 3 weeks since they last saw each other.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and snuggled against her and she almost strangled his neck in a hug, inhaling his natural cinnamon-y, musky scent.

She giggled with near tears filling her eyes. "I thought you weren't arriving until this weekend." She breathed into his hold.

He separated enough to look at her, with his infamous smirk, "I thought I'd surprise you."

"Well done, I'm utterly surprised." She smiled. They gave each other a small peck before they let go and immediately missed each other's warmth.

"Would you like a drink?" She asked as she hurried into the kitchen, searching her fridge for a butterbeer.

He took a seat at the bar and rest his arms on it, "Would I ever."

She handed him the drink and sat beside him, grabbing the freshly poured fire whiskey in her hand, "How has it been with Charlie?"

He took a sip, "It's been challenging as usual, of course I'm just a trainee. But it has been interesting, learning the mannerisms of them, I suppose."

They had been together since the War, their interests in different careers separating them from time to time. However, they spent as much time as they were able to together.

"How's the ministry? And the S.P.E.W.?" He wondered while gazing at her, missing how undoubtedly wondrous she looked right in front of him.

She pondered back to the recent work she's been doing with the ministry and her work with house elves. She used her heroism during the war to her advantage to start up a new department in the Magic of Ministry after the War, pertaining to the unfair treatment of house elves. A passion she'd held closely to her heart.

"It's been getting on well, we've been working on a law where elves can resist commands from their masters if they think it is unethical or inhuman." She blushed, thinking of all the elves that have visited her in her office to give her thanks, "It's nothing as big as giving them complete freedom, but it's something."

"That's great news, 'Mione." Ron smiled into his butterbeer.

"Have you heard from Harry recently? I owled him a couple times but I didn't want to bother him too much." Hermione inquired. Harry hadn't replied to her owls in about two weeks, she began to worry slightly but rationalized with herself that he was busy doing his job as an Auror.

"Yeah, he's been off casting wards and keeping watch on peculiar people. The Ministry sends him along with other Aurors a list of previous Death Eaters on probation and those who were on the dark side but didn't commit anything obscene." Ron nodded, "he's been fairly busy, I'm sorry he wasn't able to owl you."

"No, it's fine. I'm just glad to hear he's alright," she took a gulp of her fire whiskey. She only really kept in touch with Ron and Ginny recently, other than that she's been too caught up in her work. She looked at Ron with deep admiration, "I've missed you."

Ron looked up at her after sipping his butterbeer, "I've missed you too, 'Mione. It has been extremely stressful trying to get used to taming the dragons on top of Charlie yelling at me constantly." He laughed, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

She blushed. They haven't had any kind of intimate contact for 3 weeks, and hadn't had sex for at least a month and half.

She gasped and got out of her seat, half panicking, "Merlin, I didn't even offer you something to eat," she turned to the fridge and searched through it before she scavenged her cabinets, "What did you want? I have some leftovers or some muggle snacks here."

Ron stood, letting a giggle slip out of him, "Dont worry, 'Mione, I ate at the Burrow before I came." He began to wonder about her place. Of course he visited his family first, she inwardly cringed at herself.

He inhaled the room as his eyes roamed her flat and Hermione almost forgot about the package she had just received until his eyes landed on it. "What's this?" He asked as he travelled slowly towards it with furrowed brows.

She became nervous and hesitant to tell him, as he was always overly protective of her and she knew he would find her daft if he knew she accepted a package that didn't have a return address on it

"I-It's a package I received not long ago. I wasn't expecting it so I-I thoroughly inspected it, just in case, you know," she panicked, "but I didn't find a-any traces of dark magic or anything, so." She stuttered, internally hitting her forehead for sounding so stupid.

He steadily stared at the package, cowering over it and curling his face as if touching it would give him a disease.

"I looked through it and it's just letters upon letters. I had opened the first one and it was quite curious and unexpec–"

"You cannot just accept packages from completely random people, Hermione," he glared back at her with a fire close to explosion in his eyes, "do you have any idea who this could be from?!" He yelled.

She looked at her feet. She knew it was a dumb idea, but she can't help her curiosity. Additionally she had searched the package for any sign of threat. She wasn't deemed the Brightest Witch of Her Age for nothing. Did he actually assume that she had brought an unaddressed, unexpected package into her home without thoroughly inspecting it after all that she had been through?

"You act as if I don't know how to handle myself and take precautions." She growled, still looking at the floor.

Ron walked closer to her, letting an breath out before he took her by the wrists, "I know you how to handle yourself. I just wish your curiosity of unknown things would decrease in such circumstances." He rubbed her arm up and down.

The night went on, ending with them curling up together on the couch, intertwining their fire whiskey and butterbeer breaths sharing a longing, magical intimate moment, in front of Hermione's TV watching a program that she'd forced him to watch.

•••

She'd woke to the sound of her own Crookshanks annoyingly meowing at her that it's 6:45 am and she must get ready for work. She looked over at Ron who was still beside her asleep in her bed and kissed his cheek before she got up to get ready.

As she emerged from the bathroom, Ron was sitting up in bed waking up. She smiled and her heart warmed, "Good morning, you."

He turned around to face her and smiled back, his stare sliding down her body to admire her fitted work clothes. "Bloody hell, you go to work like that?"

She giggled and blushed, "It's not an inappropriate fit, you just think filthily." She looked up through her eyelashes.

He walked over in just his pants and kissed her rather passionately. "Can you be a little late to work today?" He asked as he took his lips away.

"If I wasn't so busy then I would make an excuse."

She craved his touch, skin to skin contact, a passionate connection that only she and Ron shared and the one she achingly missed. But work awaited.

With a clean pencil skirt, a proper white oxford, appropriate pumps, and of course calming her curls into a small low bun, she was on her way to the ministry.

She made her way to her office, and sat comfortably in her chair intending to go over the work she explained to Ron the previous night when her assistant rushed into her office, closing the door behind her.

Hermione was surprised, "Taura, what's the matter?"

The witch made her way to Hermione's chairs in front of her desk and took a seat. "I'd just come from a meeting. Some former Death Eaters have been offered jobs here to settle the rest of their debt, due to their good behaviour. Either that or choose to stay where they're at."

This surprised the Golden witch and her stomach dropped, "What?! And when did they decide to do this?!" She stood, coming around her desk to face her assistant.

"I believe it's been in the works for some time now, at least that's what I've heard. I mean, some Death Eaters aren't as guilty as others so I assume their sentence shouldn't be as lengthy. Even their probation. And I'm sure they should get a chance at redeeming themselves. I'm not sure. I'm sorry, for bursting in here. I was just somewhat startled by the news and thought you should know." Taura rambled, still sitting in the chair now in front of Hermione.

Taura was a half-blood Ravenclaw who was 4 years her senior. She'd worked with the Ministry while it had been corrupted but managed to escape to her muggle family in Canada before she was captured or enslaved by Death Eaters. Her and Hermione had begun working together when the Ministry was returned to the Order and had built a close relationship.

Hermione stood, unsure of how to take this news. Some of them tortured her, some of them hexed her, some of them watched others torture and hex her. How was she supposed to think that they would be productive employees despite being in support of those trying to take over the very Ministry that she worked in just two or three years prior?

Hermione was panicking, but showed nothing on the outside. "And where does Kingsley just expect to drop them?" She asked as calmly as she could, but it came out more annoyed and worried.

Taura shrugged, "T-They just informed me that they would give them the positions in various departments that have yet to be filled." Her voice still shaking.

Hermione leaned against back her desk, both hands gripping the ends of it. She was lost in thought. Death Eaters were supposed to rot in Azkaban along with their older Death Eater relatives. They're not to be privileged with the life of a normal witch or wizard. They, along with those who chose the dark side, have caused enough chaos in this world.

"Do you know when they're supposed to start contributing to the society that they previously hated and tried to reform?" She snarled, not even looking at her assistant.

"This coming Monday. The Ministry plans to spend today randomly distributing them into departments to fill gaps and place them to start working in different departments and sectors on Monday." Taura breathed, still seeming panicked.

Hermione's blood boiled as she faced her assistant, "And what? We're just supposed to work with them as if the War hadn't happened? As if they hadn't tortured my friends? My professors? As if–" her voice broke as she approached her last sentence, "as if they didn't torture me?!"

Taura sat silent, completely speechless, a glint of sympathy showing in her eyes.

Hermione stormed out of her office to Kingsley's office with long strides, making some of her hair fall out of her bun and glide aside her face.

Without even knocking or asking his assistant if she could enter, she barged in with anger in her eyes and purpose in her strut.

"What is the purpose of this Kingsley?!" She somewhat yelled unbeknownst to the company he was holding.


	2. Memory Lane

She stared and stared into the ocean and its whitecaps that were Draco Malfoy's eyes with fire within her own. Blaise Zabini sat beside him.

Malfoy stared back at her with sunken eyes and hollow cheekbones, looking frail and paler. And Zabini looked like he hadn't slept since the War ended, or even drank a cup of water since then.

His body suddenly stiffening in his seat, Malfoy looked quickly towards Blaise, Kingsley, Kingsley's desk, the floor, and at anything but her. His breath quickened and he took a few faulty breaths before he looked back at her.

She felt uncomfortable, angry, scared, loathsome, and completely betrayed all at once amongst many other emotions at the pit of her stomach.

She recollected herself and brought her attention to Kingsley, "I wasn't aware you had guests. Should I come back to complain later on?" She asked Kingsley sternly, attempting to maintain composure and professionalism while in the presence of the former Death Eater and supporter.

Kingsley Shacklebolt and she fought alongside each other in the War. They grew a relationship close to the one she had with Albus Dumbledore, a sort of mentorship that Hermione valued.

Kingsley stood up and walked towards her, "Hermione, I apologize to have sprung this on you." He looked back at the two, "I'll be back, stay seated please."

He guided Hermione outside and stepped out of the office, shutting the door behind them. Hermione swivelled to stare at the Minister. "Why wasn't I informed of this, Kingsley? I had to find out from Taura that this has been in the works for a while." She snarked.

Kingsley nodded calmly, "You were not informed because I wanted to make sure that none would be placed in your sector before I told you. We've been extremely short-handed in many other departments, and we considered the challenges former Death Eaters may face when trying to fit back into this society. So, we decided to recruit those who were doing well and give them a chance to redeem themselves, so to speak." He put a hand on her arm, "I understand your feelings toward them, and I am aware of what you went through. You are not to worry, as you will not be having to be in contact with any of them."

Hermione listened and felt a small wave of relief as she learned none would be placed in her sector and she would not have to interact with them as if they were any other employee. However, she was still skeptical. "How do you know you can trust them?"

"If problems do arise, they will be put back onto probation. They were given this opportunity strictly to integrate them back into society, we did not make this decision on a whim. We gave them a choice of either working here for a while and abide by additional rules to build their resume or continue their probation, and many chose this option."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just because they chose to work here does not mean they don't hold the same beliefs and values as before. They could be wanting to get off probation so they can–"

Kingsley held her shoulders firmly. "Hermione, they are not fighting against us anymore. They are compliant and wanting their lives to be normal again. Most former Death Eaters were the products of prejudiced pureblood parents who had followed Voldemort when he murdered Harry's parents. They did not have any other influences to tell them any different, and they realize this now and take full responsibility for their actions. You have nothing to worry about."

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she exhaled and nodded, listening closely to his words. "Okay," she breathed, burning a hole in the small white speck on her shoe that she just noticed. If the Minister trusted them this much, maybe, possibly, she could as well. That doesn't mean she'll try to befriend or even be acquainted with them.

She never thought that Death Eaters were capable of change. She always thought they would be stuck in their ways as their parents and their parents' parents were before them. But here they were. Agreeing to work for the Ministry and agreeing to obey the additional rules that come with it, all for the chance at a normal life. Many of those of probation were Hermione's age, plus or minus a few years.

She tried to imagine growing up in the kind of families the former Death Eaters had. A strong, power-hungry, abusive father who poisoned their minds with discriminatory, blood-purist values and beliefs. A sophisticatedly, submissive, well-mannered, high profile mother who threw extravagant parties for the socially elite and held high expectations of their heirs. A lineage of purebloods upon purebloods from both the maternal and paternal side, all never breaking the tradition of keeping the blood pure. Of course the former Death Eaters turned out the way they did. Pressured by the thousands of previous generations, depending on them to carry out their traditions and beliefs. Hermione thought she would have turned out the same way if she was born into that kind of family. It contributes to that muggle Nature vs. Nurture debate, and nurture outweighed nature in the case of the children of loyal Death Eaters.

Hermione pondered for a minute before she looked up at Kingsley. "I would like for some to fill positions in my sector." She said with determination.

Kingsley looked taken aback by her sudden statement. "Are you sure, Hermione? If it will trigger you or upset you in anyway, I don't think it will be a good idea."

She thought on it for a moment. Could she interact with a former Death Eater, one that saw her as an enemy and she them? Could she trust them to be a contributing and productive coworker? Why would she say that if she wasn't so sure?

Merlin, she'd been through a war, fought against them, and won against them. Why was she afraid to work with them? Yes, she could handle this. She would, after all, be the one to give them orders. And they are aware she would not tolerate any prejudiced behaviour, even just a muttering of that God-awful word that was carved onto her arm, and would not hesitate to report it to her superiors. It would be her word against theirs, and she was the goddamn Golden Girl. Yes, she could handle this.

She nodded confidently, "I can handle it. I will be expecting some new additions to the S.P.E.W. sector on Monday morning." With tight lips gave Kingsley a nod before turning on her heel back to her office.

Taura was back at her desk just outside Hermione's office. Hermione panicked when she looked at Taura working peacefully and realized what she had just done. She didn't even consider how Taura would feel to have to interact with former Death Eaters regularly come Monday morning. Hermione instantly felt guilty and selfish for letting her constant need to face challenges head-on influence her decision.

"Taura, can I talk to you in my office please?" Hermione smiled slightly and she led Taura into her office. They entered and sat where they had just a half hour before.

She looked at Taura and sighed. "I decided to take on some former Death Eaters within the sector." She said rather quickly, afraid of how Taura may react.

Taura's eyes widened and she quickly stiffened as her breath faltered. She stayed silent.

Hermione grew nervous looking at her friend and fellow colleague. "K-Kingsley told me they gave them a choice to either work here or, um, continue their probation. Many chose to work here, wanting to redeem themselves and integrate into this society. He said they just want a chance at a normal life." Taura continued to sit still, but her eyes now facing downward. Hermione couldn't stop her mouth from trying to defend her decision, despite her mind knowing it wasn't a good one.

"When I barged into Kingsley's office, Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were sitting in front of him to, I assume, receive their placement within the Ministry. I'm not sure if you remember them, they were in my year. However, t-their faces were sunken in, their lips were dry and their clothes looked disheveled. They looked beyond awful, so I'd thought that probation wasn't treating them well." She continued to ramble.

Taura looked at her, "A Malfoy you said? As in Lucius Malfoy, one of the most loyal and heartless Death Eater?"

Hermione nodded. "Kingsley mentioned that many of these former Death Eaters were forced to believe what their parents do and carry out the traditions and pass them onto future generations. I'd thought about it myself for a few minutes, if I was an heiress of a pureblood family I think I would have turned out just as awful as well." She gulped on nothing, hoping to lubricate her dry throat.

Taura looked at the carved letters on the inside of her forearm. Hermione quickly looked at it before pulling her sleeve down. She probably would have used that word several times as well.

"How do you know we can trust them?" Taura asked, seeming less timid than before.

"They have rules to follow and are required to act professionally, Kingsley said that they would be put back on probation and their house arrest if problems arise." Hermione said rather-of-factly as she stared at her hands. "I thought we could use some extra help, with researching and writing up this law we're trying to propose."

A minute-long silence washed over them and with each passing second Hermione regretted her decision just a little bit more.

"I guess we could use the help. As long as Minister Shacklebolt trusts them, I suppose." Taura nodded, not entirely on-board but not entirely despising Hermione's decision either.

"It'll work out just fine, Taura. We wouldn't be so different from them if we decided not to give them a chance." Hermione tried to convince her as much as she tried to convince herself. She gave Taura a reassuring smile, who returned it before leaving Hermione with her thoughts.

With her doubts of allowing former Death Eaters around her life's passion still lingering, she saw this as an opportunity to prove to them that she isn't as inferior as they thought she was. The ball was in her court, as muggles would say.

Her day went just as quickly as it came, the endless stacks of paperwork and policies seeming to never lessen no matter how many documents she looked through.

Taura brought her morning coffee soon after their talk and then her afternoon tea just after lunch.

It neared the end of the day and Hermione cleared the clutter than was her train of thought with a flick of her wand. By the time she'd finished organizing everything based on the policies in place on House-Elf ownership, their current working conditions, and several personal documents from house-elves' experiences, among many others, Taura came in to wish her a good night.

Hermione collected her belongings and floo'd home. Crookshanks meowed at her arrival, or he was just hungry, Hermione thought. She fed her loyal feline and began to make a meal for herself. She looked over at the box in the corner as she ate her dinner, her thoughts beginning to seep in like fog. She'd tried to best to put her questions surrounding this box of letters into the back of her mind all day, and the fact that she would be working with former Death Eaters come Monday helped.

However, now sitting just five feet away from the box made all her questions come forward in her conscious mind. She stood up and brought the box to the table, dumping the entirety of its contents onto her dinner table.

She sat organizing each letter by year and once there were 3 piles, she organized them by month within their respective year. They weren't written in any set pattern, she'd received one in December 1996 and then didn't receive others until 2 months later in February of 1997, when she had then received three.

Curiously, she reached for the letter following the earliest one.

_September, 1996_

_To Her,_

_I found an overwhelming sense of peace and safety in my garden during the summer months. It was my small, prickly corner of a sanctuary that was surrounded by a world of darkness, but still a sanctuary nonetheless._

_It was hard to come by recently. Even my bedroom reeks of anger and darkness, it suffocates me in my night terrors. It's starting to seep into my lungs and there's nothing much I can do about it._

_I've been trying to keep my mother afloat, doing anything to keep her safe and remotely happy. I spread myself out, taking on various tasks and responsibilities, like butter on a bun. And then someone takes me and dips me in a bowl of soup, drowning and burning me simultaneously. And I do it all to keep her safe._

_I suppose that's a strange analogy._

_I've returned to the castle, finally. My lungs have already been cleansed and this is now my sanctuary._

_However, within the sanctuary, within me, is a pit of darkness filled with resent, guilt, and unwillingness. This year will be the most difficult and hardly one to bask in my new found sanctuary. The darkness has escaped from its confines to an ocean of hidden soldiers, with a revengeful five-star General leading them._

_I'm sorry for the years to come._

_Sincerely,_

Once again, no signature or name. Hermione scratched at her head, as if it would get the gears of her inner mind to start grinding. At least this one had more to work with.

Hidden soldiers, a five-star General. Sixth year. Voldemort? She assumed that's what the writer meant, since Voldemort's followers continued to conspire secretly, underground, awaiting his return.

She opened the next one.

_December, 1996_

_To Her_

_As the year grows colder, I wonder if I am as well. I think I am. I am exhausted, I am weak, and I feel beyond discouraged in everything I set out to do._

_Nothing is going the way I planned. Then again, anything I planned was not my plan to begin with. So I guess you could say it's not my plan that's failing. Now I'm just rambling._

_You looked astonishing at the Slug Club's Christmas party. The pink of your dress brought out your rosy cheeks, and the way you avoided McLaggen amused me greatly._

_I always enjoyed watching you from a distance. Not in a creepily way, Merlin, just whenever you'd turn up around me. Appearing in the library with a strut in your step in search of some book you've somehow not read yet, walking into the Great Hall for breakfast before class smiling at your friends, you sitting in your seat in a potions class because of course you'd arrive earlier than I would._

_These memories I have of you I will cherish forever. These memories of you are now a part of the sanctuary within my mind._

_Sincerely,_

Hermione was disappointed but not surprised. However, she was surprised with the content of letter.

Someone was surprised to see her arrive early to a class? Surely the writer must not know her well at all. She'd arrived 10 minutes early to every lecture she took. That was just in her nature, something she did automatically, she didn't know anyone took note of her mannerisms. Mustn't be that good a sanctuary if it was filled with her reading or scourging down dinners in the Great Hall, she thought.

She opened one of the three she received in February.

_February, 1997_

_To Her_

_I hear a constant ticking in my head, a clock I can't get away from. Ticking away each second that passes by, reminding me I'm still as much a failure as I was a second before._

_Mum owls me less frequently than she used to. Her letters getting more vague. I'd begun to worry if someone has started to watch over her constantly, following her around to ensure she's following orders and punishing her if she didn't. Of course, she wouldn't owl to tell me if that were the case, she wouldn't want me to worry._

_No one ever told me how lonely it would feel. To put someone else's needs before your own, risking everyone and everything for their safety and happiness. I'd thought I was good at keeping my true feelings hidden away in a safe within the bank that was my mind, and pretend I was living a normal life. But again, I'd spread myself out too thinly on the bun._

_I'm unsure why I continue to write these letters to you. I still don't intend to send them. I suppose I like to imagine what it would be like to confide in you, reveal to you all my deepest and darkest secrets that haunt even me, and the thought doesn't seem all bad._

_Sincerely,_

Hermione slumped in her chair beside her dinner table. This writer talks of their feelings and the inner workings of their mind, and is seeming to be faced with a challenge. They seem deeply troubled and worrisome. And extremely protective of their mum.

She tried to recall her later years at Hogwarts. Due to a strange coping mechanism she assumed was a result of the trauma she endured, she could barely conjure any memory. However, she tried to remember any stand-offish student she'd caught staring at her more than once. There was McLaggen, of course it couldn't be because the writer had mentioned he liked watching her avoid him at the Christmas Party. So he'd been in the Slug Club, presumably. Who was in the Slug Club?

Hermione's breath got caught in her lungs as she thought of the male members, thinking of the only one it could be.

_Blaise Zabini._

Of course, the challenges of being a Slytherin in their 6th and 7th years couldn't have been pleasant. And she'd heard that his mother was really the only family he'd had, and with her constantly marrying different wizards who then met their unexpected deaths, Hermione assumed that Blaise had to take on more responsibilities as the man of their household than he could handle. She assumed he didn't send the letters because he'd kept to himself for most of the years spent at Hogwarts and they were merely acquaintances. Barely even that. Or maybe it was a blood-purist thing as well.

Although, she deciphered that he was facing a challenge. What did she know of Blaise Zabini that year? If he was facing a challenge, she couldn't tell. His face was always emotionless and he carried himself quite we—

Her floo roared in the room over, making her jump immensely. Her train of thought zoomed off the tracks and she was sucked back into reality.

Ginny came into the dining room, she halted in her tracks as she set eyes on Hermione's piles of letters.

"What in the bloody hell is this? Fan mail?" She gawked, stepping forward to get a better look at the letters.

Hermione looked back at the letters and was about to start explaining, but then a realization crept up on her and her eyes bolted toward her clock. She was supposed to visit the Burrow after supper to visit, and it was now 7:30 in the evening.

"Oh, Gin, I'm so sorry. I got lost going through these and I'd forgotten I agreed to come visit this evening." She stood to hug her friend. Ginny looked away from the piles and smiled, "It's fine, George and Charlie got into some boring dragon-related debate that I assume is still going on. I was just worried when you didn't owl to tell us you couldn't make it instead."

Hermione giggled at the thought of George probably trying to bribe Charlie into lending him a dragon for the weekend for some unknown reason. "So, what are they?" Ginny asked, taking a seat next to hers.

Hermione sighed and sat down. "I received this package yesterday, and before you say anything, yes, I checked for any sign of dark magic or rough handling. Ron gave me a hard time about it, as if I wouldn't take such precautions." She rolled her eyes, "They seem to be letters, addressed to me during my later years at Hogwarts. Although, none of them are signed, nor did the package have a return address on it." She attempted to organize the messy piles into stacks.

Ginny picked up a letter from the February 1997 pile, eyeing the envelope and the wax stamp that had enclosed it. "What a peculiar thing to receive. A great puzzle you plan on solving, I presume." She smiled.

"That would be of utmost satisfaction. These letters seem rather private, and it seems as though they wrote these letters as a sort of journal entry. They also seemed to have fancied me during those years without showing it. I have some idea of who it could be, but of course I could never know for certain." She scratched her temple once again.

"Who do you think this secret admirer is?" Ginny rested her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Well, they said my dress at Slughorn's Christmas Party was astonishing, and they thought me avoiding McLaggen was quite funny. They also confessed to admiring me from a distance. So I thought of members of the Slug Club, and the only name that was left was Blaise Zabini." She nodded with tight lips.

Ginny's jaw hung slightly, "Zabini, a Slytherin who befriended and aided a Death Eater and was put on probation due to his small involvement with the Dark Lord? That's the bloke you think put effort into all of these?" Ginny hoped she was joking.

"Well I haven't gone through all the letters yet. Despite containing very personal anecdotes of their stressors and feelings, they left out any details that could clue me into who they could possibly be. They don't even mention if they're a Slytherin or not, I'm just going off of what little information they write." She leaned forward and rested her chin in both of her palms, staring at neat stacks of letters.

There was a moment of silence and Hermione felt herself slipping back into her train of thought. It could have been one of the servers at the Christmas Party just as well as it could have been Zabini, but she didn't pay much attention to the staff while she was constantly trying to get away from McLaggen. She remembered vaguely that she barely had time for socializing while planning her esca–

"Why don't you come spend the weekend at the Burrow? It'll get your mind off this. I'd heard that they're bringing in former Death Eaters to work at the Ministry, I'm sure that can't be easy to handle." Ginny reached to Hermione's arm and looked at her sympathetically. She thought on it, Ron was to be going back on Monday with Charlie, and she had been rather overwhelmed. She nodded, "That would be more that lovely."

She neatly packed the letters back into the box and packed a weekend bag, shrinking it down to fit inside her pocket before she left with Ginny and Crookshanks in her arms.

She lied awake in bed beside Ron later that night, her mind spinning the words of the letters she read earlier into a tornado. Why would Zabini fancy her? They never even exchanged one word. They didn't know each other at all. She thought of the way she'd stormed Kingsley's office just this morning and looked him in the eyes before darting to Malfoy's. Zabini's eyes looked calm, and unbothered, despite the rest of him looking zombie-like. Surely he's over this crush by now if he'd look at her that way.

Why was she even giving this a second thought? It's unlikely she would have ended up with Zabini. But the thought of someone other than McLaggen and Ron, her best friend since her first year, actually taking a liking to her from afar and being too shy to come forward gave her some what of a thrill.


	3. The Recruit

Come Monday morning, Hermione was already in her office a half hour before work actually started. She wanted to clean her office and make herself seem more organized than she was, if that was even possible.

She looked over topics that she would want her new coworker or coworkers to research, so she could focus more on the topics she'd already researched. She set aside the pile and decided to go over what S.P.E.W. strives to achieve and what their current works include. She would go over what they were expected to do and their role within the sector, and that she would check in often.

Taura knocked before she entered and Hermione quickly stood up straight with her shoulders back, but instantly loosened up as soon as she noticed that Taura was alone.

"They should be sending in the new recruit soon, I heard it's only one since the sector only needed an extra pair of hands," Taura sat down in the chair in front of Hermione's desk and Hermione sank back into her own, "I'm nervous and sort of scared. Are you?" Taura held her hands in her lap.

Hermione inhaled and exhaled, slowly nodding. "Terrified, actually, even though I would be their superior. I always think I'm braver than I actually am." She smiled and looked down.

"Excuse my French, but that's completely bullshit. You are as brave as you think you are and even more so. Merlin, Hermione, you robbed a bank and rode a bloody dragon. The bravest thing I've done was get over my fear of deep water when I'd gone kayaking in Canada. I had 3 life jackets on and still bawled my eyes out." Taura giggled.

Hermione laughed at the thought of Taura crying as she paddled. Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Hermione and Taura looked at each other and gave each other a nod. Taura stood and opened the door to Kingsley.

"Ms. Granger, Ms. McLeod, I brought you your recruit." Kingsley said as he stood aside.

Please don't be Blaise. Please don't be Blaise.

Draco Malfoy strolled into the doorframe, looking emotionless and already bored.

Hermione maintained her composure as she did on Friday, half wanting to hex him until he was choking on slugs and half, but more like an eighth, grateful for his actions when they got caught by the Snatchers in 7th year.

He looked around Hermione's office and then at Taura, sticking out a hand. "I don't believe we've met, I'm Draco Malfoy." They shook hands lightly. "Taura McLeod." She replied.

Merlin, she would accept Blaise over this git.

Draco stepped into the room further until he was in front of Hermione and shot out his hand. "Granger." He said rather coldly and quickly. She hesitated as if he would hex her in her own office before she reached out and shook his hand, "Malfoy."

Kingsley nodded to both Taura and her before he exited. Malfoy sat in one of the chairs before Hermione and awaited his orders. He barely looked and her, constantly darting his eyes all over her office instead of her just as he did last Friday, seeming more impatient than nervous.

Hermione and Taura sat. "Alright, Malfoy." She collected the pile that she's organized for him and set them toward him. He seemed cold and uninterested, sitting completely still in his seat.

"The S.P.E.W. is–"

"I know what your bloody S.P.E.W. is, Granger. While I am grateful to be here, I only wish they hadn't put me in your sector but of course, I don't have a choice. Please just tell me what I need to do, where I am to do it, and I'll get on with it." Draco snarled, still not looking at her.

Hermione's blood boiled. She had been biting her tongue so hard since he walked in trying to put the past behind her and remain professional, but here he was, showing her that he hadn't changed one bit just as she suspected.

She would have been fucking ecstatic to have anyone but this slimy cockroach working for her.

Hermione stood slowly, staring a hole right through his stupid platinum head with a look of disgust on her face. "You will do the research and work I assign you. You will check in with me weekly on Friday mornings, if you're late to our meetings more than three times I will report you," Hermione walked around her desk slowly with the pile in her hands still staring at the same spot on his head, "You will not speak to me in that kind of tone nor will you speak to Taura like that. I am your superior, and you will treat me as such. I expected you to be at least civil, Malfoy, given that your career is in my hands." She slightly bent down in front of him to try and make him look at her. And when he finally did, she gave the cockiest smile she thinks she's ever given.

"It won't take much for me to end it if you continue to act like a complete tosser." She shoved the pile of work into his chest and she heard him grunt slightly. She returned to sit at her desk and took a sip of her morning coffee. "Look through these topics and research them as much as you can. You're excused. Taura, kindly show Mafloy where his desk is." She smiled at Taura and Taura was holding her lips between her teeth, attempting to conceal her smile.

"This way, Mr. Malfoy." And with that, they left the room.

As soon as the door clicked closed she let out the breath she didn't even know she was holding and felt her heart pounding in her chest. She sprawled out on her office chair and leaned her head back, giving out a small giggle of triumph. She can't remember the last time she talked to someone like that, and the fact that it was Malfoy just made her feel a million times better.

Hermione didn't hate him, per se. He was incredibly well-read, a responsible student, and had great time-management during his earlier days at Hogwarts. She just hated the way he carried himself, his extremely conceited attitude, and the fact that he thought he was superior all those years.

She knew she mustn't have an outburst like that again if they were to work together moving forward. But Godric, did it feel amazing.

Taura scurried back inside and closed the door behind her with a smile plastered on her face. "Hermione, my goodness, that was entertaining to watch. I didn't know how much of a knob he is. I haven't seen you do that in a while." She gawked over Hermione, sitting atop a corner of her desk. She covered her mouth with her hand as she giggled.

Hermione started to giggle as well. "I didn't know I still had it in me. He'd always been a knob," she looked at Taura smiling, trying to remember all the childish things Malfoy did in their youth, "I punched him in the face once. My outburst felt almost as good as punching him did."

Taura's jaw dropped as she and Hermione laughed even more. "That made my year." She laughed as she rose off of Hermione's desk, "I'll be back for lunch. There's a cafe just down the street, mind joining me?"

"That sounds wonderful." Hermione agreed. She sat up in her desk chair and began to attack that pile of documents once more.

Errol appeared just after lunch and Hermione stood to retrieve the letter. Sending the bird away with a smile before settling in her seat once again.

_Mione,_

_So, who'd they send you to boss around? Don't tell me they're too awful. On second thought, please tell me if they're incredibly awful so I can be glad that it's you bossing them around._

_Almost got my arm taken off by one of the new dragons, was bloody terrifying. Can barely handle spiders, I don't know why I thought I could handle dragons. But it's still interesting._

_Hope you're doing well, I miss you dearly._

_Ron_

She smiled.

Ron and her's relationship hadn't changed much since the end of the War. They still acted like best friends, they still fought like best friends, and they still joked as best friends. She loved being around him and he made her feel safe. Of course, there were things that had bothered her about their relationship.

They both weren't very touchy people. Or at least he wasn't. And they believed PDA to be disgusting. Or at least, he thought it was. Her and Ron never were very public about their relationship nor did they do any date-like activities. She doesn't even think they've gone on an actual date yet and it's been 2 bloody years. She didn't blame him, though. She blames the fact that their different interests separated them into different careers. They'd spent more time apart than they'd spent together throughout the entire 2 years.

Whenever they're apart, Hermione begins to think about their relationship and if all this time apart truly is worth it in the end. Ron hasn't given much thought into what he would like to do when he's done his dragon-taming training. Of course he could work with Charlie, but that meant he would constantly be away and Hermione wasn't sure if she could handle it anymore. Hermione had a set plan to work and educate about house elves, their history, and hopefully set them all free one day. Even if it happens after her time, she'd rest happily knowing that the elves are free and happy once again. However, she noticed lately that none of her plans included Ron. Just herself, really. She imagined that maybe Ron felt the same way if he wasn't so sure about his future.

When they had kissed in the Chamber of Secrets, it felt more surreal than anything she'd ever experienced. Of course, she didn't have the best roster to compare it to, only having kissed a boy in muggle primary school and Victor Krum. She loved Ron dearly and he was her greatest friend. They were meant to end up together, she thought. She can't see herself ending up with anyone but, despite all her current feelings.

She replied telling him they'd sent Malfoy to work for her, and she'd already let him know his place. She told Ron that Malfoy looked disheveled and incredibly thin, almost like he'd been starved during his probation. She also wrote that she'd missed him too, and couldn't wait until the next time she sees him.

The day went on and after debating with herself, she decided to check on Malfoy. She saw him sitting at his desk just a couple over from Taura's, off to the side. He was making paper hippogriffs and dragons out of blank pieces of paper and he made them swirl around in front of him. He was watching them closely with a glint of childlike wonder in his eyes. Hermione stared at him curiously.

She'd forgotten that he was able to use magic for the first time in 2 years. The look on his face was almost pure joy. She doesn't remember if there had ever been a time when she saw Malfoy genuinely smile, except when he was bullying her and her friends. Curious sight to see, indeed.

She walked over and and as soon as she came into his view his paper creatures dropped and he panicked while scrambling to put them in the garbage.

She studied him for a moment and then looked at his desk. He'd already researched a couple topics thoroughly and made a stack of notes for her to go through. "How was the research?" She fiddled her fingers as she asked.

He cleared his throat and began talking, "It was interesting. And easy to find resources as well as articles." He looked down at his hands as he twiddled his thumbs.

She thought of something to say, and then realized she hadn't even had a chance to tell him why he's doing all this research in the first place. "Great. Um, we're working towards a building a proposal for a new–"

"Law? To give house elves the right to refuse their masters if they deem the order as unethical or inhumane, correct?"

Her mouth gaped slightly at his knowledge of her work and she stuttered a quick yes. He looked at her for a second before he looked down and quirked the side of his mouth. "Don't look so surprised, you could write an article on why you think Fizzing Whizzbees are a better sweet than Chocolate Frogs and you'd still end up on the front page of the Prophet." He said sarcastically.

She blushed. "I just wanted to check in on your first day."

He shifted in his seat and once again, looked anywhere but at her, "Better than expected, thanks." His quirked smile faded, and he seemed be back to his emotionless state.

"It's almost time to leave, so I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy." She nodded and left to clean up her office once again.

•••

The week went on as the first day did. They would work separately, and she would go over to him nearing the end of the day to ask him how his day went. The same interaction occurred.

"How was the research?"

"Fine."

"Okay then, see you tomorrow."

She would try to ask him about other things, like how he found working here, if he knew how to get around the ministry, if he's okay with the workload. All questions were replied with one word, "fine." "Yes." "Yes." And all without any sort of eye contact.

She'd grown frustrated. Despite their differences and past, Hermione tried with all her might to act as a professional and tried to form a sort of acquaintance, also despite her previous statement saying she would never do so.

Hermione ultimately came to the conclusion that since he's researching alongside her, they should at least be acquaintances if they were to interact on a daily basis. It was a highly logical step to carry-out, and it would be extremely beneficial in terms of building this proposal within a reasonable amount of time. It was, after all, the reason why she decided to take on former Death Eaters within her sector. To get the research for this proposal done quicker.

Come Friday morning, she'd decided that her and Draco should work more closely together. She waited in her office at precisely 7:59 am and right as it turned to 8 o'clock, Draco rushed through the door with a pile of documents and notes.

His sleeves were rolled up to below his elbows, his trousers having creases in them as if he'd slept in them, hair more a mess than his usual parted and tamed do. Eye bags darker than usual and lips dry, as if he was sleep deprived and beyond thirsty.

He slumped into his seat and cleared his throat before he began going through his research. "There wasn't much I could find regarding the History of Elvish La—"

His voice faded far into the back of Hermione's mind as she continued to stare at him. Looking at him made her feel ill. He looked so unhealthily thin, his skin was an almost ghostly, gray shade. His veins were bulging out of his forehead, neck, forearms and hands and they were a dark purple. His cheeks were right sunken in, she swore he was a skeleton with skin. No muscles, no colour whatsoever. He looked so frail that Hermione thought any form of physical contact would have his entire body broken.

She suddenly felt guilty. He was the one who saved her and her friends at Malfoy Manor all those years ago, yet he was the one who was suffering.

Of course he wasn't looking at her or trying to make eye contact at all once again, how annoying. It did, however, fortunately grant her the opportunity to truly take in what had become of him since she'd last seen him two years ago.

He was tall, taller than before if she remembered correctly. She thought he was supposed to be more filled out at the mere age of 19 or 20. She'd forgotten when his birthday was. However, she would've assumed that he would've built more of a muscle mass, considering how athletic he once was and how much he'd cared about how people viewed him.

If he'd gotten to a more healthy weight and actually made eye contact with her and perhaps smiled more often, Hermione believed he could pass as mildly attracti—

"Granger! I asked what your thoughts were." He was making eye contact with her now after not doing so for the whole week. Although she appreciated it, she only hoped it wasn't when she was almost thinking that he could pass as mildly attractive. Not attractive, just tolerable to look at, she corrected herself.

Piercing. Chilling. Purely yet completely not serene. His eyes were as icy blue as she remembered last Friday. His face was annoyed but his eyes were just as stuck on hers as hers were his. He'd just said something. What in Merlin's name did he just say?

She looked away from him and shifted in her chair, attempted to recall what just happened within the last 5 seconds. "Very good, Malfoy." She looked back at him as he nodded. He stood after he placed his notes and research in a neat pile on her desk, about to make his way back to his own.

Hermione remembered what she'd decided earlier and quickly stood from her chair. "M-Malfoy," he turned to face her, "I thought we should work more closely together. Since Taura is busy handling other work, you are basically the only other person besides myself whose job is to research for this law." She looked down at the pile of notes and documents he'd left her.

"No one else has put in this much effort, either. I think it'd be most efficient if we met for an hour or two everyday. To go over where we're at and where we should be heading, in regards to research." She said as Draco stood still and eventually looked at her.

"It would be more efficient." He nodded and looked down, emotionless once again.

Hermione stared at his deathly-thin features and began to speak without even being aware of what was coming out of her mouth. "I was also wondering if you'd like to join Taura and I for lunch, it could be my treat. We like to try new places and I'm sure Kingsley would let you out for lunch if you were accompanied by us." She muttered absolutely stupidly.

Draco stood surprised. She thought he maybe hadn't had the best meals during probation and house arrest, it was the least she could do, really. He looked as though he was weighing the pros and cons of her simple lunch invitation. He scratched the back of his neck, "I don't really fancy eating during lunch, and I've made plans with Blaise. Zabini. I often just sit in the cafeteria and catch up with him. Thank you, for the offer though." He nodded without eye contact and closed Hermione's office door as he headed out.

Blaise Zabini, she froze as she repeated the name in her head. Her Hogwarts secret admirer, she had assumed but truly believed. Was the reason why Malfoy couldn't look at her or stand to be around her was because he knew about Zabini's crush on her? Oh, Godric, of course they'd talked about it. They were close friends by the end of 6th year and the during the War. She grew embarrassed and somewhat regretted proposing to work more closely with Malfoy. Does he know about the letters?

•••

Hermione didn't do much during the weekends, since she'd only had 4 close friends.

Her preferred pastime during the weekends was trying to cook new Muggle recipes, drink a couple cups of fire whiskey with Crookshanks by her feet, listening to the new Muggle hit songs on her radio she'd kept from her old room.

She'd keep up with Muggle culture more than she would the Magical World, mainly due to living in Muggle London. She'd also just found it much more entertaining and it would get her mind off things. Her favourite films at the time were, of course, the American teen romances, _She's All That_ and _10 Things I Hate About You_. There was something about Paul Walker and Heath Ledger that just made Hermione swoon. Maybe it was the bad boy act, or the confidence they had as they would swagger about their school. She'd found that oddly attractive.

She refused to look at the pile of letters that weekend, until Sunday evening rolled around and she'd just gotten home from grocery shopping.

She'd began cooking a dish she never made by hand, a bacon cheeseburger. She'd eaten it before and it was one of her favourite guilty pleasures, but seeing it on her American films and TV programs made her crave it, so she thought she'd attempt to make it at home.

As her patty was cooking, she eyed the box of letters. She let out a sigh and checked if the side of her patty was browned enough yet, and once she determined it wasn't she walked over to the box and set the organized piles in order on her bar. What letter came after the February 1997 ones? Should she even read the other February 1997 ones?

She decided against it and set them aside for another time. The next one was from March 1997.

_March 1997_

_To Her_

_Looking at you made my internal sanctuary burn so much brighter. Despite waking up everyday with darkness lining my lungs and soul, and it trying to break into the sanctuary within the bank that was my mind, seeing you burns it all off, freeing me from the evil that creeps around me. Even if it is only just for a second, I cannot get enough of it. Seeing you gives me the strength to keep the walls on the bank steady, and all the safes inside it locked._

_If you only fucking knew. How different my life would be if I didn't idolize the wrong people and completely give myself to them in order to please them. How different my life would be if I was born into a different family, a different world. Anything to distract myself from this life I am forced to live._

_I often imagine this, my preferred life. I would've liked a dog, I think. They seem blindly loyal and protective, they don't care who their master is. I suppose it's almost selfish of me to want a creature to be loyal and protective of me, given who I am. I imagine a nice cottage-like house, surrounded by tall evergreens and the smell of pines. I enjoy the winter season. I enjoy watching the snowflakes fall gently, the smell of the cold._

_Imagining is the only thing that keeps me sane now, I suppose. Imagining there's a normal future for me is what gets me through everything I do. A future with you. Of course, I'm aware it's far from the reality that awaits us. Nonetheless, I still can't help but wonder. It's all I have left to do now._

_Sincerely,_

A ringing suddenly began to fade into her conscious mind and she snapped back to reality. Her smoke detector was going off and she'd burned her beloved American bacon cheeseburger.


	4. Mondays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this is shorter than the rest, I am dealing with finals and a family issue at the moment. Please continue to write any reviews!! It helps me know if I am writing the characters correctly. I write throughout the week, and hope to update weekly. But school and life may get in the way. I thank those who've followed the story from the start!! Leave reviews and recommend to those who you think would enjoy it! Please leave ideas to where the story should go as well, as I am writing this as I go (with a background plot in mind). Thank you and enjoy :)

Hermione had a hate/love relationship with Monday mornings. She loves researching and reading, being enveloped by texts and the written words that fell upon them. The idea of being inside the mind of the writer, imagining the inner workings of their brain form the sentences that her eyes laid upon. It was like a passage through history. Putting yourself in the shoes of the writer, feeling empathetic as they continuously scribbled and crossed out words that didn't quite catch the essence of their intention, before they'd perfectly written their train of thought and brought the story to life.

Of course, it was usually just the text that she's read close to a hundred times, and it was purely for research purposes. But she felt as though she were living in it, nonetheless. The part of Monday mornings that she hated was actually trying to make herself, and her wild mane, presentable after a weekend of being in her natural state. Muggle jeans and a jumper, letting her hair roam free. She had a small variety of work-appropriate wear and could put together well-enough outfits that weren't completely obscene, all thanks to Taura who has a small knack for fashion and a better eye than she did.

She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror and studied herself before getting dressed for work. She didn't view herself as the prettiest witch, but she supposed she wasn't ghastly to look at. Her figure was proportionate, and she'd noticed that it filled out more since her days at Hogwarts. But she didn't imagine she was anything special. The way people carry themselves and treat others was much more valuable than any looks they may possess. She valued and praised people with a good head on their shoulders.

Slim fitting navy blue trousers and a white blouse? That looked acceptable, she thought. Then she remembered that she would be meeting with Malfoy daily from now on and that oddly inspired her to look more polished. She decided to switch the trousers to her more fitted, cream plaid-patterned ones and paired them with her usual black pumps. She wasn't big on accessories, nor did she have any.

She looked in her mirror once again and thought highly of the outfit she'd pieced together by herself. Before flooing to the Ministry, she had to kiss her furry flatmate goodbye.

She said good morning to Taura, who was always at her desk already filing documents before Hermione even arrived. Taura followed her into her office.

"Good morning, boss. How was your weekend?" Taura smiled as she set Hermione's coffee on her desk.

Hermione shrugged and set her things on her desk before she sat. "Uneventful, as usual. Although, I tried to make a bacon cheeseburger but ended up almost burning my place down. I completely forgot that I was cooking the patty when I was reading the letters. Daft of me, really." She huffed a laugh.

Taura looked at her confused. "Letters?"

Hermione's stomach dropped as she looked at Taura with wide eyes. "Merlin, don't tell me I'd forgotten to tell you," Taura gave her a look telling her to go on, "I received a package of unaddressed, unsigned letters close to a week and a bit ago. Well, I'm assuming they were written to me since they were sent to me. The most curious thing." She sipped her coffee.

Taura rested in the chair across from Hermione, her face turning into a look of confusion. "Letters? Sent to you without a return address or anything. This is either mirrors a horror film or the greatest love story ever." She said intriguingly.

Hermione nodded as she smiled. "I've opened and read a couple. They seemed to have been written to me in my last years at Hogwarts, and the writer fancied me, so I'm hoping it's more of the greatest love story theory. It's an intriguing mystery trying to determine the writer. So far, I've come to believe it's the Blaise Zabini bloke I've mentioned to you."

"Curious, indeed. I heard he got placed in the Magical Games and Sports Department. Should we take up a game of quidditch this week after work to take notes? You know, for research purposes and possibly some conversation starters." She smirked at Hermione, making Hermione's cheeks turn a bright red.

"My research is not conclusive, I've only read the first few of a hundred."

"A hundred?! Blimey, this Zabini must have been completely and utterly in love with you. I can barely get one to look at me." Taura giggled.

Hermione laughed beside her.

Taura was one of the prettiest witches she thinks she'd ever laid eyes on. She had olive skin, her face showing no blemishes with high cheek bones. Straight and sleek long, black hair. She assumed Taura had gotten her genes from her mum's side in Canada. Hermione recalled Taura mentioning her mum and her family were of the Indigenous peoples of Canada. It was interesting to learn about, really, Indigenous culture and traditions, Hermione thought. It was much different than the other cultures surrounding England and the entirety of Europe.

"So there's no bloke attempting to court a lady like you then?" Hermione smirked at Taura.

It was Taura's turn to blush, she bobbed her head left and right. "Alright, well there's someone I've been chatting with and we've only been on one date but I'm not sure."

Hermione loved to indulge in girl talk and the whispers of others' love lives. She never really had many girl friends growing up, nor did she have many during her time at Hogwarts. She'd always been surrounded by her two male best friends who were completely blind and awkward when it came to this sort of talk. She didn't realize that she'd been missing out on this sort of female connection until she'd found it with Taura 2 years ago.

Taura grew to be one her best friends. Of course she had Ginny, but she felt as though they'd only become closer because of her friendship with Harry and her relationship with Ron, and the fact that she had spent many nights at the Burrow in the past. Her friendship with Taura was different, Hermione found herself able to confide in her without fear of judgement. As well as gossip and talk about anything at all. Hermione trusted Taura and felt beyond comfortable telling her anything, which was all she ever wanted from a best friend.

"Shall we meet for a drink tonight and talk about your newfound lover boy?" Hermione leaned forward on her desk.

"Ugh, Hermione, I thought you'd never ask. I can't remember the last time we went for a drink. I miss it and I miss you, although I see you everyday. I'll come meet you nearing the end of the day, be ready." Taura giggled as she strode out.

Hermione hadn't really felt like researching all that much today, surprisingly. She sat in her office chair staring at the stacks and piles of policies and articles and texts. She decided to go for a stroll about the Ministry. Maybe it was the fancy outfit she'd chosen, or the good night's sleep she had, but she felt oddly chipper and enthusiastic today and she just couldn't sit still.

She left her office and went about the desks outside, smiling at Taura, and her eyes fell to Malfoy's desk. It was empty. Of course he could've been using the loo, however, she was curious.

She strolled over to Malfoy's desk and saw he'd already written a pile of notes for her, despite it being the mere morning hours of 10 o'clock on a Monday morning. How impressive, she thought. She remembered that she still had the other stack he'd left her last Friday to go through.

She studied his notes on the History of Elves. She'd gone through the text many times, but she assigned it to him to get a second opinion in case she'd missed anything.

She admired his penmanship. Incredibly easy to read despite it looking so formal. His choice of words enabled him to create comprehensible and precise sentences.

Elves were previously divided by groups, with distinct and unique traditions that differentiated them based on their region.

She was sure she'd seen this kind of penmanship before. The way he'd looped his p's and g's, how he wrote his letters with a slight slant to them as if he were right handed. Of course everyone's hand writing was different, just as everyone had different finger prints and different pitches to their voice. Merlin, she'd read so many texts within her lifetime that had this exact penmanship. However, while she was no graphologist, but she could've sworn his handwriting was exactly lik—

"Granger." Draco stood behind her as she jumped and quickly straightened away from the notes on his desk.

She'd managed to spit a quick, "Malfoy, good morning." She was completely boggled and speechless for probably the first time in her life.

"Is there a problem?" Malfoy spat with his shoulders wide. She looked up at him from 3 feet away, of course without him looking back down at her. He had definitely grown taller, she thought.

She shook her head, "N-No, not at all. I just fancied myself a stroll. A break from reading, if you could imagine." She looked down, her neck muscles almost relaxing from looking up at him. She rubbed the back of her neck. He just stood there, looking at his desk.

Godric, is working with men as awkward as being best friends with them? She didn't know what to do with her body, as if she was frozen in place from all the humiliation she felt. She didn't even move an inch. Move, Merlin! You're blocking his seat to his desk, you daft dimbo, she thought to herself.

She stepped away from his desk and he nodded and his sat back down at his chair. Hermione searched through her entire mind to think of something to say.

She stared at him. Bloody hell, say something, her conscious yelled. She scrambled, "Your penmanship is very beautiful."

What the fuck.

Not even a, 'Good job with your notes, Malfoy.' Or 'I was just checking in.' What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she think of something logical she could say? She was always fucking good at that. She was beating her own brain into mush, regretting anything that came out of her mouth at this point. Maybe she was the awkward one and her best friends were normal.

She noticed he went a bright shade of red. "I've written quite a bit in my time, I suppose." He looked down with a small smile and a distant gaze in his eyes. He looked up at her eyes, "So I'll see you after lunch, then?"

Hermione gathered the mess that was her mind and gave him a smile followed by a nod. She walked past him, continuing her walk that she had planned to take before that horrific incident.

Godric, why did she get so awkward and speechless around him constantly now? She maintained her exposure perfectly last week, she'd gotten furious with him and was still able to form comprehensible sentences, all while seeing red! She was never one to lose her train of thought.

No, that wasn't her train of thought she'd lost back there. Because there were absolutely no thoughts to even create said train. It was as if she opened the top of her head like a toy bin and gripped her entire brain and flung it out the window.

Maybe it was because she wasn't sure how to act with him when he's being so... not Malfoy. She'd never had an interaction with him that didn't include him degrading and insulting her. It was surprising to see him act so opposite to his younger self. He was quiet, timid, breakable. And as awkward as she apparently was, which made all their interactions a million times worse.

Or maybe it was because she'd actually had a good look at him whenever she'd check in. Yes, it made her ill. Yes, he looked like a bloody Dementor with skin and legs. She'd never really looked at him in their youth. She'd seen him, but she never really looked at him long enough to form an opinion on his looks because she would always be blinded by absolute rage.

She tried to conjure memories of him, what he'd looked like, his personality. She couldn't visualize it, all she could recall was the vile and cruel words that he said to her.

She assumed that's just how her brain worked, through the letters of the alphabet and the awful words they could form and the even more horrific sentences. Perhaps that's why she was so good at reading and taking tests or writing up essays. They'd merely challenged her ability to conjure up words, theories, and definitions from her memory and tested her ability to form words and persuading sentences in her own opinion on various topics.

She couldn't recall one memory about him, only his words. Now, as they work together, Hermione was able to look at him, to truly see him. And the very fact that he doesn't look at her back at all, made it all easier.

He had his weirdly off-white hair, that he kept sharply cut. She'd never seen anyone with such white hair that wasn't old. He had the lightest blue eyes she'd ever seen, they were almost a silver. He had an incredibly pale complexion, which she assumed could've been due to the fact that he must be incredibly ill.

When he'd smile, his face would reveal his wrinkles around his eyes and the sides of his mouth. Not the wrinkles that elder people have, but the ones that would show on younger faces when their skin would fold and overlap as their face muscles showed any kind of emotion. She almost enjoyed to see him smile. She'd never seen him smile with teeth yet, but she was strangely looking forward to it.

His shoulders were broad, he was stood tall. She guessed she was at his chest, in terms of tallness. He barely slouched when she had checked in on him. No wonder his posture seemed so proper. Although, she assumed that it was due to growing up in a pureblood family.

Whenever he would pierce at her with his silver daggers she always lost her breath. Even when he'd look at her when she had her outburst, she lost her breath, but should never admit to it. It was Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. He was a former Death Eater! What in the bloody hell was she thinking?

Hermione made it back to her office after an hour and a half of roaming the Ministry, occasionally sinking deeper into her conscious and blindly walking into places she's never been before. Before she entered her office, she turned her head to Malfoy, who was surprisingly already looking at her. Her breathing pattern stalled and she froze up, him seeming to react similarly.

Merlin, they haven't even started working more closely together and she could tell it would not go well.

•••

Malfoy entered, without knocking as he did before, with empty papers and a quill and of course his research topics. "Granger." She said with a nod, making way to the chair before her desk.

She stood nervously. "Malfoy," she nodded back before she reached to the piles of topics they should research together, trying her best not to look at him, "I thought we should start with this text I'd found, The Magick of Elves. Having read it a couple of times, I thought we could use this as a way to defend and protect the Elves, and prove them to be as equal to wizards and witches, intellectually alike. Our only difference is that they are a mere 3 feet tall and possess a different appearance, regarding the looks of them. Despite that, they are as magically inclined as us, even more so actually." She handed him a copy.

Malfoy nodded, taking the text in his hands. "I've also read this text more than once. An interesting read."

They both sat, reading the same texts and reading the same words. Hermione didn't dare to take a gander at him, refusing to see who was in the room with her. She tried her best to act as though he was just another employee, as if she hadn't thought those thoughts that she had while on her walk. He's just another employee, and a former Death Eater at that. He did not deserve her gander.

They worked in silence, as if making a noise would make the room interrupt into a duel between the light side and the dark. At least, that's how Hermione had viewed it.

She acted as he did now, refusing to look at him. And she was confused why. She was the fucking Golden Girl, or she was during the War. And now, she finds herself unable to look a Death Eater in the eyes. His chilling blue eyes.

Hermione wondered if he was actually able to read the words upon the text, as she was having an unimaginably hard time to. His presence overwhelmed her. In this moment, she deeply regretted asking to work more closely with him.

"They are quite more magically inclined than any of us could imagine." Malfoy said as he wrote his notes, slicing through the silence they held for a good hour. Hermione agreed in her head, and mustered up the rest of her might to act indifferent towards him, as she should.

"Of course they are. They can perform an endless number of spells without the requirement of a wand," she said a matter-of-fact-ly, "I would have imagined you would know, having had many of them at your beck and call, but apparently that's not so." She supposed that was a bit dark to say, but she meant it.

Neither of them looked at each other, therefore could not place their reactions to each sentence that was said. She assumed he wasn't fond of her response, by the way she heard him shift in his chair and huff.

They continued to read silently. Hermione had read this text hundreds of times. She nearly knew every sentence that followed the one before. She had read every text that she assigned Malfoy, hoping for another opinion. She understood that different minds catch certain details, as she had found when trying to find the horcruxes with Harry and Ron. Although she was highly logical and could catch many details, she valued how other minds worked.

Surely he wouldn't catch any detail that she didn't. And he could catch every detail she did. But she'd only hoped he would catch something she wouldn't. She was willing to give up her pride for this Law. She'd read every text relating to the Elves. She needed someone to find something that she'd missed. She was at a blockage.

She hated to admit it. But she couldn't find any additional detail that would help the Law she was trying to pursue. She'd read every text. Every policy. Every law. She'd sworn she was aware of every and any detail. She needed to go through the text thoroughly. And she thought she required another set of eyes to do so.

She continued into the text, taking all her prior knowledge of it out of her mind and attempting to read it with fresh eyes. She'd done this many times before, with every text she's ever read each time she'd read it again.

"They are undoubtedly loyal, and with centuries of oppression, it would be impossible to penetrate their loyal tendencies. How do you even suppose you make this law and expect the elves to conform to it?" Malfoy said. She had thought of it, and had done research on it. He was questioning her reasoning and purpose. Her blood boiled once again, and she'd truly missed feeling like this.

"They're only bound by law to obey their masters. If the law were to change, they would be able to deem unlawful orders as unacceptable and act in a reasonable manner. They would know no harm would be done to them. By this Law, I'm simply giving the Elves the ability to refuse some orders."

All he did was nod, she could she out of the corner of her eye. That's all she had been doing, looking at him in her peripheral vision.

Although she hated the idea, the thought of him working alongside her didn't disgust her. She knew he was well-read. And was able to decipher the meanings of sentences that held a hidden meaning. She knew he was able to find loopholes between laws, as was she. Although she would never in her lifetime admit it, she was almost grateful that it was a pureblood working aside her.

She knew Ron was as well, but his family had held themselves differently. They weren't accustomed to raise their offspring by teaching them to be these purebloods that Malfoy had known. The Weasley parents had raised their children with love, compassion, and empathy. She admired them for their efforts. Their children had turned out quite well. Ron was loving, protective, and had a good head on his shoulders. Which was why she'd taken a liking to him in the first place. Ginny was wise, nonjudgmental, to a degree, and understanding. She'd taken her as one of her closest friends.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was raised to be anything but. He was raised to be cold, traditional. Prejudiced. She didn't think he could change. Of course, with his father being imprisoned and his mother facing the same charges he did, she thought there was a small chance he had changed. But she didn't trust it.

She was working with a former Death Eater, and she tried her best to think of him as that.


	5. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I’m late with this chapter, I’ve been busy with exams and I recently had to travel home because of a family issue. I will try my best to get the next chapter done in the next week or two! TW: suicidal thoughts.

Later than night, Hermione joined her friend Taura for a drink.

A lovely new bar they found when they began working together, called the Whizzing Wand. They meet here every so often, gossiping and sharing stories through their drunken joys and laughter. Hermione valued their friendship and was able to confide in Taura with anything. Well, almost anything.

The War made her weary as to who she could trust with her secrets. Of course she trusted Ron and Ginny and Harry. They’d been through the War with her. She didn’t know why she was like this with Taura, despite Taura showing her loyalty.

Hermione did consider Taura her closest friend, it just had more to do so with the trauma she endured, she supposed. It’s hard to talk about one’s own trauma. She barely told anything to Taura about her time in the War, she also thought Taura would hold some guilt for escaping to Canada instead of fighting if she did. So, Hermione never brought up the War, or her experiences during it much. And Taura never asked.

They sat at the bar on swivelling chairs, Hermione with nothing other than a firewhisky in her hand and Taura with her usual Elderflower wine.

They chatted of their weeks since the addition of former Death Eaters to the sectors and departments.

“Mr. Malfoy seems to be getting on quite well. I thought he’d be harder to work with, but he’s a very good communicator and he keeps up with the work you assign, and does even more work on top of that.” Taura said while on the topic.

Hermione nodded in agreement, thinking of how their meeting went earlier today and their horrendous encounter before. “Malfoy’s always been well-read. And a great student. He was almost never late with assignments, and was always in the library when I was. I imagine he took as many breaks as I did.”

Hermione only remembered this as he was second-to-best in every class, after her, of course. And his chattering with his gormless bodyguards often interrupted her studies within the library, it was hard to miss the sound of his annoying voice.

She went into a daze as she began talking of Malfoy, she assumed it was because of her 5th or 6th glass of firewhisky, which she was almost finished consuming. “He was a vile git who’s made some awful decisions, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be a great and productive addition to the S.P.E.W. He’d always been so smart.” She smiled at her glass.

“Don’t tell me you’re smitten, Hermione.” Taura smirked as she sipped her wine.

Hermione jerked her stare up to Taura, speechless once again for the countless time today.

“I-I don’t know, I mean no, for Merlin’s sake. I haven’t even though about it until today, I mean, before I didn’t ever give it a second thought b-before, nor a first thought actually, and I don’t now either.” She stumbled quite incredibly, “No, definitely no. I have Ron, and I’m happy.” She wrapped up her incoherent ramble.

She blushed more than ever before. She hadn’t talked about her love life with Taura much, as it never changed. She was with Ron, and no major events ever occurred. The most she’d ever told Taura about Ron was that he was her longterm boyfriend, and they’d been best friends since their first year. Sometimes she’d update Taura that he’ll be coming back for the weekend and then the following Monday she would tell her that they had a great weekend together.

But this was new to Hermione and surprising for Taura.

“Are you sure?” Taura questioned her friend, knowing there was something different in the way Hermione acts while on the subject of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione panicked. Malfoy and she had only been working together for what a week? Two? She couldn’t remember at the moment. Godric, has it only been a week?

She sighed, “I’m not sure right now, God, I’m not in love with the tosser, I just...” confessing to Taura. Surely she would never admit to these feelings if she hadn’t ordered her, what, 6th glass? “In our younger years, I’d never actually thought of him as anything other than Draco Malfoy, the git who bullies me and my friends. Working together now, I’ve come to notice details regarding his hair, his face, his build,” she paused for moment reminiscing on all those recent times she’d stare into his icy irises, “his chilling, silver eyes.”

Taura nodded and smiled, “I don’t mean to be so forward, but I never would’ve imagined someone like you and someone like Ron together. But I just suppose you’ve grown with each other, are both comfortable and not wanting anymore changes in your lives.”

Hermione intently listened to her friend’s words, or tried to. She was comfortable with Ron. Maybe the reason why she couldn’t see herself ending up with anyone but was because she never tried to.

“I guess I had always been scared of change since... since the War. He’s always been there, through everything we had experienced, he was there.” Hermione nodded. “But it’s impossible for me to be with Malfoy, even if I hypothetically wanted to. Purebloods and all.” She attempted to laugh, trying convincing herself it was an absurd idea.

Taura giggled, “Oh, Hermione. For a genius you are so dense sometimes. It’s okay to find someone else attractive, it’s not a crime. I understand your relationship with Ron, it’s a very intense friends-to-lovers story.” Taura took Hermione’s hand, “I didn’t mean anything by my previous comment, I just think you are both comfortable, and comfortable can be okay. Especially considering what you both have been through together. There’s a sort of understanding of each other’s mannerisms that no one else will be able to comprehend.”

Hermione thought hard about her current relationship. She loves Ron more than anything. She was sure he’d looked at many other women and found them attractive, but to him it was always Hermione. And to her, it was always Ron.

“I just never saw Malfoy as anything other than a Death Eater and a bully, I suppose. It’s surprising to interact with him in a different setting while having a new sort of acquaintance with him.” She rationalized with herself. Surely it was just a new found, school girl sort of crush that meant nothing. Even if he did look like death. Figure that, she had a liking for skeletons.

“Everyone has their crushes, but everyone always has that one person that they end up with who was there all the while.” Taura smiled. She was so nonjudgmental and accepting, and Hermione was so thankful.

Hermione switched to wine and Taura switched to cocktails and they got right drunk, even taking on the karaoke that the bar had every Monday night. Strange to have karaoke on a Monday night, but it was a bloody good time nonetheless.

•••

Hermione woke with a God-awful headache on her Tuesday morning. Just bloody fucking wonderful. She’d run out of hangover potions two weeks ago and meant to get more, and at the moment she couldn’t for the life of her remember the hangover spell.

She didn’t even know if her outfit matched when she arrived to the Ministry. Taura looked as miserable as she did, wearing sunglasses at her desk. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, but quickly stopped as it made her head pound. She wishes she had a pair of sunglasses.

“Morning, starshine. The Earth says hello.” Hermione said as she approached the obviously sleeping witch. Taura gasped as she quickly sat up and grabbed her wand to her ear, “Sorry, Miss, you’ll have to wait to see if I can fit you into Ms. Granger’s schedule.” Hermione watched her incredibly hungover friend attempt to make a phone call from her wand.

“Taura, you twit, it’s me.” Hermione laughed more. The pain of her god forsaken alcohol-induced headache searing through her skull.

Taura looked up through her sunglasses and covered her mouth as she began to laugh as well. “I’m more hungover than a fucking jumper on a line during the summer.” Taura slumped back in her seat.

“As am I. Keep my meetings to a minimal today, I beg of you. Try your best to look alive, although I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t.” Hermione made her way to her office, not drunkenly but post-drunkenly. Trying her best to walk in heels, keeping her eyes wide and awake, and holding her breath to not smell the breakfasts of anyone as it would probably make her puke.

She fell back into her office chair, wanting to slide right out of it and lay on the floor. The floor would be much colder...

Malfoy suddenly burst through the door with a pile of research against his chest. Hermione only managed her get her head up to look at him through one eye, still slumping in her chair. “What?” Hermione croaked. Her throat ruined from the karaoke she took part in the night before.

Malfoy stopped in his tracks and took her in. A witch slumped and sprawled in her chair, looking at him with only one eye, “What in the bloody hell happened to you?” He quietly said with disgust.

Hermione took a few seconds to process what he said to her, then quite literally almost threw up while thinking back on it. “I had a few drinks with Taura, why do you ask?” She said calmly. The alcohol still unfortunately coursed through her veins, and granted her with enough confidence to have a normal conversation with him.

“Because you look like you drank your body weight in alcohol and shrivelled up from dehydration.” He almost laughed, and she almost saw him smile with teeth. He sat down, seemingly enjoying her suffering. That toothless smile revealing his wrinkles. She still looked at him through one eye, it was too fucking bright in this room.

“I never knew you to drink or even over-indulge in the likings of alcohol.” She smirked at her.

Merlin, his presence and her lingering drunkenness was a bad mix. “A lot can change in two years, Malfoy. I now suffer from the traumas I’ve endured and alcohol seems to allow it to dissipate for a mere moment.” She smirked, closing her eyes, “Plus, it makes me a bloody good karaoke singer.”

He went quiet. She opened her one eye again and looked at him. He was looking down, his smile nowhere to be seen. He looked broken once again.

Here goes her bloody stupid mouth once again. “Merlin, I didn’t know you had so much sympathy for my alcohol-induced suffering.” She still smirked.

He shut his eyes tight. She’s never seen him like this. A sadness rushed over his face. She slowly sat up and opened her other eye, it worried her quite a bit to see him like this if she must admit. “Malfoy, I was only joking. I just had too good of a time last night.” He still looked the same.

“Um,” he huffed out a fake laugh, “I apologize. I came to tell you I believe I made a breakthrough, with the research.” He opened his eyes and stood, placing the pile on her desk, “I’d found it late last night but I wasn’t sure how to contact you.”

She took the pile in and looked up at him with wide eyes, which sort of hurt and didn’t help her headache. “My floo’s always open if there’s ever a breakthrough.” Why did she say that? She knew he couldn’t use the floo to anywhere but the Ministry for work. She was just so overly excited to have some sort of new passage to more information for the Law, she’d completely forgotten. She felt almost guilty for suggesting it.

He stood hesitantly and looked at her. “Do you have a telephone line?” He asked after a few seconds of silence.

She looked at him utterly surprised and stalled for a moment. “Do you have a telephone line?”

He nodded, avoiding her eyes once again. “If you could leave your telephone number with Taura I can get it through her later.” He walked towards the exit.

Taura should have her telephone number. But then Hermione remembered that Taura was just as hungover as she was, “Taura is sleeping, presumably throughout the day.” She tore a piece of paper and wrote her home number on it, handing it out to him, “Here, you can ring if you ever find something after work.”

He loosened up as he walked back and slowly took the note. “I’ll see you after lunch then to tell you what I think I found? Unless you fancy a day-long nap yourself?” He said sarcastically, with no smile.

Their interaction almost sobered her entirely, but she still had some recklessness left in her. “Wake me up when you come in and maybe I’ll talk with sense.” She smiled at her hands on her desk.

He nodded, she saw at the corner of her eye, before he left. Was that considered flirting? She wouldn’t know. But she felt a giddiness in her stomach. He was being nicer than he usually was today. Maybe he just felt sorry for her, given her current state.

She started on Malfoy’s notes from the previous Friday. God, his penmanship, she swore on her life she’d read it before. Maybe it was during a peer review session in Hogwarts.

•••

“Granger. Seriously, I think you overestimate how much you can drink.” She felt someone rocking her.

“If you continue that, my bile will be all over your shoes and the floor.” She replied hastily. She wished someone would remind her to not drink on a weekday ever again.

She sat up from her crossed arms on her desk, blinking her eyes several times before regaining focus on the one and only Malfoy. “It’s after lunch, Granger.” He seemed almost annoyed as he backed off from her side and onto the seats in front of her.

Hermione felt better, just nauseous at sudden movements. She made another mental note to never drink on a week day if she wanted to avoid feeling like this for the rest of the day.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake.” She heard Malfoy mutter under his breath. With a flick of his wand Hermione suddenly felt better. Hangover spell.

Hermione collected herself. “Right.” She sat up and continued to go through Malfoy’s notes that she had been going through earlier. “My apologies, I’ve quite literally never been that hungover before.”

Her mind’s fog cleared and she was able to think clearly again. She thought about her morning encounter with Malfoy and felt sick when she thought of the way she acted. Flirting with him, or at least she considered that flirting. She didn’t know. She hadn’t flirted with anyone since Ron. Teasing Malfoy to wake her if she nodded off, that was considered flirting, was it not? No, maybe it wasn’t. Her mind was playing tricks on her.

“You don’t have to act so Ministry-employee-like around me.” Malfoy said quietly, “I’ve felt as hungover as you do. Back in the Hogwarts days.”

She looked at him, he was smiling; half showing his teeth. Still enjoying watching her suffer. But showing half his teeth this time.

She felt courageous after watching him expose half his teeth. “So you’ve been right hung in Potions class then?” She said smiling back at him, trying to get back to his notes.

He laughed through his nose. “Are you kidding, the Dragonfly Thorax and Bundimen Secretion made me gag all the Monday mornings we had to deal with them.”

She laughed. “Even a sober person would gag over those horrid smells, I can’t imagine having to face it while being hungover.”

“You never drank at Hogwarts, have you?” He inquired curiously.

She thought on it. “I’ve had a couple butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, but never had enough to get drunk.” She looked at her hands almost embarrassingly, “I imagine the Slytherins had a much better time on Friday nights than the Gryffindors did.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and saw him smirk at the cover of the book he held and his notes. “If you’re not immune to hangovers by now, I would assume that we did.”

She laughed and remembered that he had made a breakthrough. “So, what did you find?”

He looked up at here for a split second before returning his ocean eyes back to the book he held. “The house I’m in, it has decently-sized library. I looked through it to see if there were any elf-related texts. And I found this one.” He handed the medium sized book to her which read The Enslavement and Mistreatment of the House-Elves.

Hermione sat shocked. She doesn’t believe she’s ever seen this text before. With all the resources the Ministry has to offer.

“It was published under the name D. O. Elwor, I’m not sure when it was published though. I’ve never heard of such a name either. Anyway, they speak of the untold histories of how elves became house-elves and how they are being mistreated today. It seems the author actually had an house-elf, or at least acquired one, and asked the elf questions about his personal experiences and the family history.” He explained almost excitedly and Hermione must admit she was over the moon ecstatic. She shot up out of her seat and laughed in disbelief as she looked at the book and then at Malfoy, and he looked at her with a full smile, all teeth.

“Malfoy, I c-can’t believe this,” she was speechless, breathless, thoughtless. Suddenly her feet were walking around her desk towards him and her arms snaked around his waist, her head burying into his chest, “You have no idea what this means to the case.”

He stood there awkwardly with his hands hovering her shoulders, almost debating on whether or not he could hug her back. She pulled away and looked up at him. A shiver climbed up her spine and she stared into his eyes. A swirling ice storm. “Thank you.”

He looked back down at her and there was a long silence between them. Not the awkward kind that they’d had many times before. The kind of silence where the rest of the world fades away and you’re already dreading when the moment ends. The kind of silence that makes you not want to fade back into reality ever again because being in this moment gives you sliver of what complete serene and contentment feel like. The kind of silence that envelops you and them and you’re both only aware of each other.

Malfoy placed his hands on Hermione’s cheeks, gentle enough that his touch feels like a feather on her cheekbones. He looked at her like he was hesitant. He caresses her cheeks with his thumbs as he slowly leaned closer. Hermione’s mind was blank, and all she could focus on was how amazing he smelt and how soft his touch was. How he almost looked more tired, but a little healthier at the same time. How his lower lip was no longer dry, but plump and almost a normal shade of pink, and how it hung a little lower and slightly showed his bottom teeth. How he was moving in closer and she didn’t plan on stopping him.

She slowly moved her arms from around his waist to place her hands on his forearms, feeling his surprisingly warm skin. He was an inch away from her face and as she closed her eyes she was mesmerized by his minty breath.

She wanted to lean her head up slightly to meet his lips so bad. To taste his minty breath on her tongue and inhale his expensive vanilla apple scent. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and she never wanted this moment to end. But of course it does.

Errol appeared with a crash into her closed window with a letter in his beak.

His whole body flinched as he opened eyes, taking his hands off of Hermione’s cheeks and stepping back. He looked at her mortified and his face turned a bright red while he tucked his lips between his teeth into a thin line. He looked at the door and quickly at her once again before he darted for it

“No!—“ Hermione said as she reached out to grab him but he was already gone.

She thought about what just happened. She wasn’t even going to stop him. She was just going to let him kiss her. And not just let him, she actually wanted him to and she wanted to kiss him back.

No, she couldn’t. She has Ron. She’s happy. So happy in fact— She remembered Errol was waiting on her.

She hurried to the window and snatched the letter from Errol before returning to her seat quickly.

‘Mione,

I’ve decided to quit dragon-training and come home. Even though I thought it was interesting, this just isn’t for me.

I’ll be home by Friday, can’t wait to see you and spend much more time together than we have in the last 2 years. I’ll make it up to you.

Love,

Ron

What was she going to do now?

•••

She got home later than usual to avoid seeing Malfoy. The last thing she needed was to get stuck on a lift with him.

Crookshanks meowed at her arrival and she fed him as usual.

She ordered herself take out and tried to distract herself from the incident. Some muggle television programs should help, she thought.

His lips looked so soft. The way he held her cheeks made her stomach flip every which way. He looked into her eyes like never before and she felt seen by him for once.

Stop. What usually helps distract her? Reading. She could read the text Malfoy—... Malfoy. No. She could try cooking something. Rushing over to the fridge and opening it, she looked for anything to make or bake or mix together. Nothing. She hadn’t gone grocery shopping.

She turned back to her living room and a certain box caught her eye. Yes! Of course! The letters always seemed to distract her.

She rushed back into the living room and grabbed the box of letters. Which one was the last she’d read again? Oh right, March, 1997. She searched for the next one. A second one from March.

March, 1997

To Her,

I think I would have enjoyed having a cat as well. Even a job, what do muggles call it, a 5-9 job? I’m not sure, but I would’ve enjoyed that as well. A house on a quiet street, with a car and maybe one or two kids. I would choose being a muggle over doing what I’ve been ordered to do. I’ve wished every single day now for the several months that I was born into a different life.

It keeps getting darker. It’s in my bloodstream now and soon it will reach my major organs, then my bones, then my muscles, then my skin, and soon enough my entire being will be nothing but fucking darkness and I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

Sometimes I go up to the astronomy tower and stare. Debating whether or not I should pitch myself off or not. Everything would be easier if I did.

But then I think of mum. No one would protect her. There’s nothing left of my father.

I also think of you. And how much I look forward to seeing you next. It’s the only thing I look forward to now. Your smile is so beautiful. The way your mouth gapes, eyes squint, and head rolls back as you laugh stops me in my tracks every single time. I get butterflies when I hear your voice in the classes I attend.

Maybe I won’t visit the astronomy tower anymore. The thought of seeing you makes everything worth it. I guess that’s extremely selfish on my part, considering what I have to do.

Sincerely,

This made Hermione’s stomach drop. She saved him, and she didn’t even know who he was. Or did she?

He does have a father, unless he’d died. That sentence was confusing.

Her brain was too cluttered to try and figure this out right now. She decided to call it a night and hope tomorrow wasn’t even more awkward between her and Malfoy.

————

End note: I'm sorry if it was shorter than the previous ones!


	6. Safe & Recovering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TW!!! Suicidal tendencies; thoughts of self harm; suicide attempt. Hello!! I’m so sorry I went MIA for 2 months, I was dealing with family issues and school. I will try my best to have the next chapter up as soon as I can!! Please leave comments, suggestions, or point out if there’s any mistakes/inconsistencies, Enjoy

Malfoy had called in sick for the rest of the week, according to Taura. Hermione wouldn’t admit it to herself, but every morning since their almost kiss, she tried to look her best and even dabbled with makeup.

She wanted to see him and every morning she hoped he would be sitting at his desk, lost in thought writing notes upon notes for her to read. She still hadn’t read his first notes that he’d given her because she was still trying to go over the texts she’d already read a second time so the work and notes are thorough.

A knock on the door filled Hermione’s ears.

She somewhat panicked. She straightened out her outfit and sat in a proper manner. “Hermione.” She heard a familiar voice purr. She laid her eyes on a dark haired wizard.

“Harry!” She exclaimed as she raised out of her seat to greet her friend.

They hugged and she returned back to her chair behind her desk and he on the desk chair.

They stared at each other for a couple seconds before Hermione found the words to greet him, “Harry, I’m sorry I am just so surprised. I haven’t seen or heard from you for so long and I was beginning to get worried. How have you been?”

Harry laughed, “I’ve been a busy Auror, as I’m sure Ron as told you. Exciting to hear he gets back today.”

Hermione sat and nodded, “Oh, yes, I cannot wait. Though I’m sad to hear he didn’t like the dragon training.” Then she grew curious, “What brings you here?”

Harry’s smile turned into a line as he brought his lips between his teeth and he shifted in his seat. “I heard they assigned Malfoy to work in your sector and I just came to–um, check up on him? So to speak.”

She felt as if her stomach weighed 100 tons as it sunk at the sound of his name. Why would Harry need to check up on Malfoy? She thought he was out on good behaviour. “W-why does he need to be checked in on? If that’s not too much to ask.”

“Well he was a Death Eater, first of all, and we need to keep some sort of contact with all of them,” Harry pushed his glasses closer to the bridge of his nose while avoiding eye contact, “But, he was also on our close watch list.”  


“Meaning?” She grew scared. All the thoughts she had about former Death Eaters swirled around her conscience once again. He was plotting something. He wanted to gain access to confidential files. He used her. She cursed herself mentally as she waited for Harry’s response.

“We have a couple reasons why people are put into close watch lists. One, for example, is deeming them to be suspicious or remaining loyal to Voldemort’s wishes, I guess one would say.”

Nodding was the only thing she could do at this point. Nod and listen. The little voice in the back of her head was laughing at her decision to take in a Death Eater in the first place. She knew she shouldn’t have. And now what files had she exposed him to? The files of her life’s work. Who knows what other files he had access to. Godric, she was dead from the neck up.

“But, there’s also a close watch on those who have suicidal tendencies or thoughts of seriously injuring themselves. We, um, w-we deemed Malfoy to be one of these cases.”

Her hurricane of doubts and curses stopped swirling and stood still. She looked at the Chosen One in disbelief. “Malfoy? Suicidal?” Was all she could get out. She could only picture the self-absorbed, spoiled-rotten pureblood he was in their younger years. 

Harry nodded. “I’m not supposed to enclose this kind of information. But he, on multiple occasions, has attempted to end his life, alongside other former Death Eaters. I, personally, had to talk some out of making that decision. Malfoy was one of them.”

Her dry throat clicked as she tried to swallow. She felt sick and suddenly began to shake when a realization entered her mind. “Harry,” her voice cracked as she stood up and began to speed walk out of her office, “Malfoy hasn’t been to work all week.”

All week he’s been gone, and she told him to contact her if he had made any other breakthroughs with the case. He hasn’t contacted her once. Maybe she was overreacting, but then again maybe she wasn’t. Malfoy wouldn’t contact her if he felt as though he wanted to end his life or seriously harm himself. He couldn’t even look at her after what had happened.

“Taura,” Hermione called as she approached the witch’s desk, “Did you have any direct contact with Malfoy this past week?”

Taura looked surprised as Hermione rushed up on her with the Chosen One on her tail. “N-no, Hermione, I haven’t. It was Kingsley who told me he wouldn’t be coming in on Wednesday. I’m unsure of why he wasn’t in yesterday or today. Is everything alright?”

Hermione grew anxious and frustrated. “Harry, we have to go. Now.” She said more sternly than she ever said anything before. She began to pull his arm when she came to a halt and Harry stood in front of her.

“‘Mione, this is officially Auror business now. Please stay here and try your best to stay calm. I’ll owl you later.” He held her hand with both of his before he turned and disapparated.

She was out of breath and her heart was beating so hard she could feel the waves of blood coursing through her entire body. Surely he was alright. He had called in sick meaning it was him who called to say he wouldn’t be in that day. Or at least he did on Wednesday.

Hermione’s stomach and head were a mess as she tried to remain calm. She doesn’t even fully understand why she’s acting in such a manner, he’s merely a colleague. 

She walked back to her office quite fast and spent the afternoon by her window, drowning in multiple morning coffees and cups of her afternoon teas, waiting for Hedwig. She mustered up enough motivation to sit at her desk and read Malfoy’s notes in attempt to distract herself, which actually worked for quite a bit. His opinions and the way he arranged his interpretations of the text were clear and concise, Hermione praised him for it. He also made a list of all the Laws currently in effect that the new Law would impact, which Hermione had thought of but never wrote down in a list. It was almost motivating to see how many Laws would be changed because of their work, and how many lives would be saved.

This didn’t last long, however. She grew restless and anxious, pacing back and forth for an hour before ending up sitting at her window again.

Taura walked in quietly with another cup, looking at Hermione as if she would break down at any moment. 

Hermione was almost unaware of Taura’s presence as she stared at the sea of witches and wizards that filled the Ministry’s main floor. They looked like small ants, all scattered about, constantly moving, talking, thinking. A word then popped into her mind as she watched the ants crawl in every which direction. Sonder. The realization that each passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. She’s always thought about this, even when she was younger. Before she knew there was a word for it. When she would go on annual summer road trips with her parents, they would take the same routes and Hermione would recognize restaurants, gas stations, and certain unique houses that they would pass every summer. She would stare into the windows of them and see people she’d never met in her entire life, but she would watch them go about their own unique days as usual. She would see the same people who lived in the houses she passed, and notice that their kids had grown bigger or they bought a new vehicle. To all of them, however, she was merely a passing car. This always amazed her.

She realized that no one could really know the story behind every person unless you get to know them. Then again, one could never be entirely sure as everyone had their own secrets and pasts. Malfoy, for one, would be a prime example. She hadn’t kept up with what had happened with him and his family after the War. Swept up with the busy life of being the Golden Girl, the last thing she’d heard was that his father was put back into Azkaban and he and his mother were put under house arrest and probation. She couldn’t recall for how long.

Malfoy, like the rest of the wizards and witches that made up the Wizarding World, had his own story. Perhaps he was filled with emotions such as guilt and sadness. Perhaps he’d lost his way, his purpose. She couldn’t imagine what being confined to one’s own home for an extended period of time would do to a person. Then again, he had taken on a vital role when it came to the downfall of Albus Dumbledore and Hogwarts and ultimately, the Wizarding World. Perhaps he deserved it. But to sit there and think that he could have possibly taken his life the past week because of all that, was extremely nerve wracking to Hermione. She was never one to take a life, even during the War. She couldn’t imagine how he’d want to take his own, especially after being given this opportunity to integrate back into the Wizarding World and possibly be given back a life without dark promises to fulfill under an Evil wizard. This was something, she thought, she would never know the answer to.

“What’s happened, Hermione?” Taura asked quietly.

Hermione quickly looked at Taura and at the window once again, “It’s Malfoy,” she cleared her throat, attempting to approach the topic as she normally would any other, “Harry came to check in on him because he’s on a close-watch list. Apparently he’s had,” she paused in attempt to find an appropriate word, “issues regarding harmful acts against himself.”

Taura sat at the corner of Hermione’s desk facing her, with wide eyes and a small gape of her mouth. “Malfoy? Really?” She was as speechless as Hermione was when Harry told her.

Hermione slowly nodded and suddenly her words began to spill out of her like a dam that’s breached, “And when I realized he hadn’t been to work since Tuesday, I began to worry. I’m not sure why I’m this worried. I just hadn’t known what he’d been through and it surprised me quite a bit.” She stared at her hands as they fidgeted with each other. She began to think of how just 3 days ago her hands were wrapped around his torso and her stomach dropped.

“I almost kissed him, I think.” She blurted out. Her own words surprised her as she looked over her shoulder at Taura, whose eyes had widened and mouth gaped even more. The dam kept breaking and the water kept flowing with a vigorous force, “I don’t know what happened. He’d found a book regarding elves that I’d never read or heard of. I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and suddenly I was hugging him and there was this... This silence between us.” She went on without knowing why.

Taura sat still. And whenever Taura sits still, Hermione starts to grow nervous. Taura always has something to say. “What kind of silence?”

Hermione thought back to that moment. She could smell his expensive scent and feel his minty breath glossing her face. She could see his eyes, and how they weren’t filled with sadness or fatigued anymore. “It was a comfortable silence. The kind you feel when you’re alone with someone you’ve known your whole life and you’re able to enjoy each other’s company without the need for conversation. I didn’t feel awkward or nervous. I felt almost safe and content.”

Taura’s mouth curled slightly. “You enjoyed it.”

There was hesitation, but Hermione gave in, “I... I did. But, I’m not sure if he did. He bolted out of my office the very second the silence was interrupted by that stupid owl,” Hermione instantly thought about Ron and an ocean of guilt crashed over her, “That was the last I’d seen him.” She stared down at her thumbs, who couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with each other.

“Has Harry owled you back yet?” Taura broke the silence that lasted for what seemed like forever.

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat before she replied, “No. I’ve been waiting here all day.”

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off. It’s clear you aren’t in the right mindset to be here. You can catch up on your TV programs and order in. It might make you feel better.” Taura suggested with a hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

It might be good to have a break. Maybe she’s only had this breakdown because she’s been overworking herself with this new Law. Being in a bit of a rut with the work, she’d grown frustrated and anxious. Of course she was worried about Malfoy, but perhaps she’d been projecting. Or, perhaps, she enjoyed the comfortable silence more than she’d like to admit. “I think that’d be good. Thank you, Taura. I’ll owl you later.”

Hermione rose from her work chair and slowly began to clear her office. Within a half hour, she was curled up on her couch, watching her TV programs as Taura suggested.

Watching TV programs didn’t last long, of course the girl would murder the step-mother. She’d abused her and stolen the money the girl’s father saved up for her before he died! These can be beyond predicable and cliché sometimes, she thought. Maybe that’s the fun in them and why they continue to air these sorts of shows, it’s not hard to predict what the outcome would be.

Unlike real life, she supposed, when anything could happen and there’s no way of really knowing what or when. Hermione never enjoyed that part of life, never was interested in the element of surprise or uncertainty. Hated it, in fact. Feeling in control, making sure everything falls into place—that’s where she thrived.

Lately, however, it seems everything is uncertain. It feels as though she’s been living the same day over and over, achieving nothing. Seeing the same people, having the same conversations, reading the same books. The S.P.E.W. was her passion, ever since her Hogwarts days. But when something starts off so well and then halts to a stop with no further progression, there’s a loss of motivation that seeps in along with feelings of guilt and frustration.

Then came Malfoy. It was like he pulled her out of a sinkhole and joined the mission she’d been going through alone. She was grateful for him. And his brain. She hadn’t heard from Harry and with each second passing she grew even more worried. She felt nauseous every time she thought of him taking his own life. She would never wish for anyone to feel that way. Of course, she had her own battles with anxiety and depression, still does from time to time. Awful illnesses to endure, but having to endure them while being punished with little to no support is something Hermione couldn’t imagine. He deserves better, even if he did do what he did.

“‘Mione.” Said a voice just behind her.

Scared the living Godric out of her, it did. She quickly turned to face it. Ron stood at the fireplace, face slightly dirty from the Floo powder.

“Ron!” She rose from her spot on the couch and made her way over to him. She wrapped her arms around him and felt at ease. His familiar musk filled her nose as she pushed her face into his chest and she enjoyed the hug until an intrusive thought came to mind. He doesn’t smell of vanilla apple.

“You alright?” She asked when she noticed his hug lasted longer than usual.

Suddenly he was crying. “I’m sorry for these past two years.” He sobbed into her neck.

Hermione was good at comforting people, but never knew what to say when they cried. She grew very awkward about him crying, even if it was her boyfriend of two years. “Ron, let’s sit. Come on.” She led him to the couch.

They sat facing each other and Hermione tried her best to comfort him by holding his hands and wiping his tears. She quietly shushed him and gave reassurance until he was calm enough to speak. “I feel as though I’ve loved you my entire life and when I finally got you, I’ve done nothing to prove that I love you more than anything. After the War, we went our separate ways and I should’ve wrote to you more or told you I loved you often. I thought about you when I woke up and when I went to bed, and every moment in between. When something good or bad happens you’re the first person I want to tell. I miss you and the calmness you bring me. And I should have told you all these things because I love you,” He stumbled between shaky breaths and then looked at her with his hand resting on her cheek, “I do, Hermione. I love you. And I’ve been a foul boyfriend.”

Hermione’s stomach exploded with butterflies and she sat there speechless with teary eyes. This is why she loved Ron. He’s a clueless git sometimes, but when he feels like reassurance and appreciation need to be given, he’s not afraid to give it. She leaned into his hand, “I love you too, Ron.” His hand wasn’t as warm as the other one that had held her cheek days before. 

They kissed once again shared a night of longing and passion. Hermione attempted to teach Ron to cook the Muggle way, which ended horribly. She tried again with baking and it ended similarly. They laughed and laughed until their stomachs hurt. They talked and confided in one another as best friends-turned-lovers do. They lied in bed facing each other, talking non sense that made sense to them and them alone. Soon enough, they were asleep, their breathing matching each other’s.

•••

A knocking at her bedroom window woke her up and she sat up scared to death. When she realized it was Hedwig, she looked at Ron who was still sound asleep and slowly slipped out of bed. She opened the window and saw he brought a letter. She pet the bird before taking it and sending him off. She looked back at Ron, almost nervous to wake up, and opened the letter quietly.

_ ‘Mione, _

_ Malfoy is okay. He had an episode, a bad one at that. He refused any help at first, but we took him to the psychiatric wing at St. Mungo’s and he seems to be stable. I don’t want to share the explicit details because I don’t want you to worry more than you already are. Rest assured he is safe and recovering. I’ll be by soon to explain further. Try to get some rest. _

_ Harry _

“What’s that, ‘Mione?” Ron groggily wondered.

With a panic she stumbled, “Nothing. Just a letter from Harry.”

Ron turned to the clock, “At 3 o’clock in the morning?”

She set the letter down on her dresser and nodded, “He’s been busy I supposed. Hedwig woke me up.”

She instantly felt guilty for keeping the contents of the letter from Ron. She didn’t know why she did either. Malfoy’s a colleague and she was simply worried about his well-being. However, saying she was relieved would be an understatement. She felt a weight lift off her chest and felt as though she could breathe again. He was alright, safe, and recovering.

Ron was fast asleep as she climbed back into bed with him. His breathing always soothed her. She had a million questions zipping through her mind at once, as usual. How long would Malfoy be at St. Mungo’s? Will he come back to work afterwards? Or will he need time off? Obviously he’d need time off. She was willing to give him anything he needed in order to find himself again. Can he work from home? They can communicate through owls, if the Ministry allows it, and apparently telephone calls. Hermione still found that peculiar; a telephone in Malfoy Manor. She smiled at the irony. Would he still be interested in working with her? He seemed to be doing okay with the work, but it wasn’t the most interesting for him, she supposed. She could interact with him more, be less, well, herself. Why did this letter have to come at the early hour of 3? Now her mind is racing and the questions won’t stop.

She looked at Ron and listened to his breathing. She was more than half asleep when she unconsciously started to imagine it was _him_ breathing. Next to her; safe and recovering.


	7. Changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!TW!!! Suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts. DO NOT READ IF THESE TRIGGER YOU.
> 
> I finished this one faster than I thought I would. I’ll try to have the next one up as soon as I can! Comment, suggest anything, share with friends, point out any mistakes or inconsistencies! Enjoy

As promised, Harry arrived the next morning. Just as Hermione was finished stirring her coffee, the doorbell rang and Ron, who surprisingly look a break from eating his Muggle-made breakfast he learned to make, answered the door.

“Harry, blimey, it’s good to see you.” They gave each other a hug and It reminded Hermione that she couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had spent time together.

“Ron, so glad to see you.” Harry replied as he walked over to Hermione to give her a kiss on the cheek. “‘Mione.”

“Harry, happy to see you again.” She smiled before she turned back to her bacon she’d been frying.

“What are you doing here, mate? You miss me that much?” Ron laughed as he guided Harry to the bar stools that sat at the kitchen island.

“A-actually,” Harry stuttered while looking back at Hermione, “I came to talk to Hermione. About Malfoy.”

While she’d usually roll her eyes at the name, she instead grew embarrassed, which Ron had noticed. “What’s wrong with the bloke? Has he been treating you badly, Hermione?” Ron asked half concerned and half angrily.

“No, it’s quite the opposite, actually. It’s between me and Harry. Would you mind going into the other room while we talked?” 

Ron looked at her confused before slowly taking his plate into the dining room. Not without giving her and Harry a small glare of course, as expected.

“Is he really alright, Harry?” Hermione asked quietly as soon as Ron left the room, scurrying over to where Ron previously sat.

Hesitant, Harry nodded, “Far from alright, though definitely stable, as I had said in my letter. We arrived at his muggle house a short while after I’d left you at the Ministry—“

“His muggle house?” Hermione asked, confused. She assumed all this time he’d been living in the Malfoy Manor with his mother.

“Yes, when he and his mother were given their sentences, the Ministry had moved them to a small Muggle house in a secured location within London. No magic. Just them, a few of their belongings, and a few of their house elves.” That explained the telephone, she thought. Somewhat disappointing, however, she liked the idea of a Muggle item within a pureblood mansion.

“When we arrived, his mother answered the door confused as to why we were there. It seemed he had been in his bedroom since leaving work on Tuesday, and pretended to arrive home through the door afterwards so his mother wouldn’t suspect anything. But really, he’d been at the house all along. When we opened his bedroom door, he was about to...well, he appeared to be distraught and on the verge of seriously harming himself. Lost in his own thoughts, he barely even noticed we were there. We had to talk to him down from his episode. He kept repeating himself, saying he didn’t deserve the position he was given nor did he deserve another chance. We convinced him to take a walk with us to clear his mind, and that’s when we signed him into St. Mungo’s.”

Hermione’s chest had twisted into a knot, and she suddenly felt the urge to cry. The lump in her throat only grew bigger. “How long does he have to stay at St. Mungo’s?”

“We estimated anywhere between couple weeks to possibly months. He was diagnosed with severe depression and the trauma from the War caused him extreme PTSD. He’s paranoid and hesitant, beyond frightened of the world. He doubts anyone could ever accept him for what he’d done, though many other Death Eaters had done much worse than he did. He carries an overwhelming amount of guilt, all of which led him to how he is now.”

“Are you sure of this?” She questioned. Stupid question, of course, but what else is she to say when faced with facts such as these?

He nodded, “In Auror training, we had lessons regarding the mental health of wizards and witches. How certain situations may affect them long term. His symptoms match those of depression and PTSD. They’re no different from the symptoms muggles experience, except with the addition of extreme decline in their magical abilities and entire magical being. Of course, his probation and house arrest didn’t help much either as they weren’t allowed to use magic and being confined to one place is shown to worsen such symptoms”

The quietness enveloped them as Hermione processed everything that was said to her. She’s beyond glad that Malfoy is finally getting the help he needs, she sensed he was not at his best even before he’d joined her sector. A moment appeared in her mind at that instant, the moment she’d first laid eyes on him in Kingsley’s office. She already knew his sentence wasn’t serving him well. A bloody dementor is what he looked like. He needs this, he needs the help he’s receiving, she thought. She’d only hoped those at St. Mungo’s were treating him well.

“Is he being treated fairly well?”

“I believe so. The healing aurors tended to him right away, despite who he is. Their job is to treat all wizards and witches, they took an oath to not discriminate based on blood status or whether someone was an ex-Death Eater or not.”

Another weight was lifted off of her chest. Merlin, how much weight had she been carrying since this incident occurred?

She nodded. It seemed that was all she could do whenever faced with bad news regarding Malfoy now. Though he was in good care by the sounds of it, at the back of her mind she still worried. That was in her nature, of course. To worry about those she...cared about.

She and Malfoy barely knew each other, in the personal, close-relationship sense of course. However, she still felt they shared some enjoyable moments that made her care for his well-being. “Is there anything I could do?”

“I’m afraid not. He requires healing from the aurors who specialize in magical minds and what he requires most of all is time. His mental health is at an all time low, quite possibly the worst we’ve dealt with thus far following the War. In his mind, he doesn’t have a purpose to fulfill, a reason for living. The only reason way he stayed this long is because of his mother, Narcissa. I suppose now that he sees there’s no more danger imposing her, he feels it’s his time to go. The War didn’t only break him, ‘Mione, it shattered him into a million pieces. We can only hope he finds it within himself during his time at St Mungo’s to pick up all those pieces.”

Everything Harry had just said broke Hermione into pieces. This is what’s become of the boy they’d loathed for 7-8 years. Misunderstood was all he was; misunderstood and misguided. Mistreated, abused, forced to conform. Years upon years of this suffering has turned him into this. Hermione only wished she could do something, anything. Despite their differences, no one should feel like they don’t have a reason to live. 

“Are you lot done? I’d like to go on about my day without conversations of Death Eaters.” Ron waltzed into the room with an empty plate.

Hermione snapped, “Ronald Weasley! I wish you would have some sense of maturity or sensitivity. There’s no more Death Eaters, they’re all locked up in Azkaban. The rest have tried with their entire being to disassociate themselves from that name and are now battling their own minds.” She looked at him furiously. How dare he call Malfoy a Death Eater, as if he was still a malicious murderer without remorse.

Harry and Ron both grew quiet. Everything she said was the truth, after all. She excused herself and headed to her bedroom where she took a long, hot shower. 

“Oi, what’s gotten into her?” Ron stood confused before he began washing his plate and the others beside the sink.

“I reckon she’s worried. She’d been working with Malfoy rather closely, I suppose they’d grown a sort of acquaintance by the way she’d reacted yesterday.” Harry explained, stealing some bacon off of Hermione’s uneaten plate.

“Worried? Acquaintance with who, Malfoy? Seems a bit of a reach, wouldn’t you say?” Ron stopped scrubbing and looked back at Harry. Drying his hands, he turned to face the dark-haired wizard with crossed arms.

“She was right ready to disapparate with me when she’d realized he hadn’t been to work all week.” Harry shrugged, seeming to be oblivious to it all.

Ron’s mind began to spin with thoughts of worry as well now, not feelings of worry for Malfoy but for the feelings Hermione held toward himself and their relationship. Approaching the topic as nonchalantly as he could, he went on, “What’s happened with the ol’ ferret anyhow?”

Harry was hesitant, looking back at the stairs as if Hermione would walk down them any second, “He’s not in the right mind. He tried to kill himself yesterday.”

Ron shrugged without a care in the world for his old nemesis, “Serves him right. With all the bullshit he’s pulled? I would do it myself if I could.”

Harry looked at his long-time best friend, not able to wrap his head around the vile words he just spoke, “It’s a serious issue. Nothing to make a bloody joke out of. This is my job, I can’t hold school-like grudges anymore. The War is over, Ron. Under oath I have to save these people, even if one of them is Malfoy.” He stood up from his stool.

Ron raised his eyebrows, as if he didn’t believe that Malfoy had a serious issue of any kind. “I understand that, Harry. And it’s not a school-like grudge either. I just don’t believe I should give pity to those who’ve tried to have me killed.” He turned back to the dishes.

“You shouldn’t wish death upon them either, with that mindset you are no different than they once were.” Shaking his head, Harry turned to leave. He was never keen on helping the former Death Eaters who’ve also tried to kill him. But it was still his job nonetheless and he believed in second chances, unlike Ron apparently. He’s seen all of them first-hand, responded to every call the Ministry had given him.

Ron hesitated and looked at Harry once more, “How...how exactly did Hermione react?”

Harry wasn’t one to speak words that would hurt those he loved. Something came over him, however, “Like she wanted to save him herself.” He spat with instant regret, without even turning to face his old friend. He left without another word.

Hermione sat in the shower for an hour before she mustered up the energy to get out.

Does Ron really believe they’re the same as they were before? The only former Death Eater she interacted with was Malfoy, so it was a small piece of reference. But he seemed to be the worst of them that were in their year back then. And Malfoy has changed.

That she fully believed now. She no longer held doubts about him, nor did she believe he wanted to infiltrate the Ministry. Indeed, the War was over, and so her prejudices and judgements should die with it. With knowing what he’d gone through, it showed Hermione that he was human after all. A magical one, but a human with emotions and feelings and complex thoughts. She supposed she’d known this all along, but rivalries and the War can warp these opinions. With those no longer in the picture, the way she saw them now had changed.

Ron came into her room as she was getting dressed.

Hermione was still mad at him, as she always is. Walking past him toward her wardrobe with only a robe and a towel on her head, she spoke, “You’re wrong, you know.”

“About what, Death Eaters?” He sat on the bed as she walked past him again to the bathroom after having picked out her clothes.

“You speak of them as if they’re still all around us, torturing us and taking over the Wizarding World.” Her voice from the bathroom echoed.

“They might not be in power anymore but they still exist. Their beliefs haven’t changed because their leader was defeated.” He watched her walk back to grab a pair of underwear that she’d forgotten before she made her first trip back to the bathroom.

“They are all in Azkaban, Ron. The ones who were Death Eaters but choose not to associate themselves with that lifestyle anymore, they’re on probation and house arrest because it was clear they were coerced into following Voldemort.” She walked out fully dressed, “Forced to follow him, Ron. Raised by or married to Death Eaters and forced to. They didn’t choose to follow him.”

“And so Malfoy was forced to do everything he’s done then? Without a choice to, I don’t know, not kill Dumbledore or let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts?”

“I believe so. Do you not know Lucius Malfoy? He raised Draco like that. He forced Draco to believe—“

“Draco? You’re calling him Draco now?”

“No, Ron, it just slipped out. Merlin, you’re impossible!” She grew frustrated. It was like talking to a brick wall. “Who are you to judge when you haven’t had any interactions with any of them anyway. You’ve been gone since the War was won.”

“I wouldn’t want to, Hermione. I’ve had more than enough dealings with them.”

“They’ve changed, Ron! Malfoy’s changed and he seemed to be the worst of them. You’d know it if you talked to him.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, but I cannot and will not see them as anything but. They killed Tonks and Lupin, Mad-Eye, for Merlin’s sake, Hermione, they killed my brother!”

They were face to face now, the tension in the room would choke anyone who walked in due to its thickness. 

Hermione stayed silent, not knowing any other way to convince him—to open his eyes and see. Although she could honestly say she understands where he’s coming from, she just wishes he’d be more open-minded. She can’t blame him, however.

She quickly changed out of the clothes she’d just put on and into pyjamas, deciding not to leave her house today.

“I am sorry about George. I’ll never understand what that feels like. I never said whatever they did wasn’t wrong. What I meant was those who didn’t have a choice should deserve a second chance.” She calmly said while getting back into bed despite it still being the late morning.

Ron stayed silent for a while before speaking quietly, “I promised mum I’d be at the Burrow by lunch. You can come over later if you’d like.”

She could hear him stop at the doorframe of her bedroom. “Y...you don’t... have feelings for him, do you?”

Hermione froze at the confrontation, “Of course not.” She felt a pit in her stomach form.

Hermione felt overwhelmed. Ron’s been back for only a day and she already feels as though they’re not who they once were together. When it’s going good, it’s great. The second it goes bad, everything turns horrible. It reminded her she’d always felt this way, even in their youth. They were best friends, so they confided in each other like best friends, which is an amazing relationship to have. But they also fought like best friends as well, and Hermione didn’t see if those fights can be outweighed by the great moments they did share anymore.

She began to cry. Feelings of frustration, anger, worry, and utter sadness leaked out of her. Mentalexhaustion consumed her, and before she knew it she was having a day-long nap, just as Taura had on Tuesday.

•••

“Hermione.” A mesmerizing voice rang through her ears as she faded in and out of sleep.

“Hermione, wake up. Let’s make dinner.”

The voice sounded like silk and soft piano music to her ears. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw a familiar platinum blonde. She stretched and smiled. “What are you going to make me?” She said groggily.

“Correction, Granger, I said let’s make dinner, as in let us make dinner. Which insinuates that we both would be making it.” He sat beside her and leaned over her with a cocky smirk as she lied comfortably in bed.

She giggled, “As in I’ll be making it all while you put together a simple salad.”

“Precisely. Come on, love. It’s time to get up.” He kissed her forehead. She memorized how his lips felt, soft and gentle. Warm.

“Help me.” She put her hands around his neck and she rolled her head back into her pillow.

Help me.

_ HELP ME. _

_ HERMIONE HELP ME. _

Malfoy was screaming at her, he transformed into a extremely unhealthy, disheveled, starving ghost. He was sobbing, crying for help. They were in a dark room.

_ I can’t take this anymore, Hermione. I need to go. I need to go. _

“No, NO! Malfoy, stay! DON’T GO!” She yelled back. He couldn’t hear her.

He began to fade away into the darkness.

_ I’m sorry. _

“NO—“

Hermione sat up from her pool of sweat she was laying in, her heart beating a thousand beats per minute. She couldn’t breathe. Her room was dark, where was Malfoy? Was he okay? She felt uncoordinated and confused about her surroundings. She instantly grabbed her wand and cast a Lumos Maxima charm.

Her bedroom. She was in her bedroom. Malfoy wasn’t there, he was still at St. Mungo’s. He’s okay; safe and recovering, she reassured herself.

She went into her bathroom and wet her face. What was that dream? Or nightmare. Whatever it was. Malfoy kissed her forehead. Well, not really. But it felt real.

She realized it was mid afternoon. Her TV program should be airing soon, so she made her way down to her living room. She groggily made her way over to her kitchen and nearly tripped over something as she was wiping her eyes. The box of letters.

She’d nearly forgotten about them since she started working with Malfoy. Surely these would get everything off of her mind.

Crouching over it, she peered inside. Blaise Zabini, the bloke hadn’t even attempted to talk to her since he’d been working at the Ministry. Perhaps he was shy and embarrassed, but Hermione would never know. She decided to drag the box over to her couch and laid them all in chronological order as she had them before, by month and year.

Maybe she should only read one from each year or one every few months to figure it out once and for all. She grew impatient with the mystery behind the writer.

What was the last one opened? March, 1997. She searched for one in June.

_ June 1997, _

_ To Her _

_ Everything that I’ve gone through has led up to this very moment. The pressure of this is too overwhelming. I feel like I’ve been suffocating since the task was given. _

_ Mum will die if I don’t do it. My father as well. I’m only a boy, for Merlin’s sake. I’ve been forced to mature more quickly than my peers, I’ve lost my childhood to this. That’s all I can think of now. How differently my childhood would have been if I was born into a different family, with a different father. _

_ Nothing has else worked and it’s come down to this. The astronomy tower, the vanishing cabinet, and the end of everything I’ve grown to love and cherish. It’ll all be gone in a split second and it’s beyond my control. _

_ It’s almost like in quidditch, I suppose. Ten seconds left in a game and I see Potter’s an inch away from catching the golden snitch, which is the most undesired outcome. There’s nothing else I can do, despite having tried to create strategies and game plays for the beaters and the chasers to score more goals. _

_ I’ve tried everything. The undesired outcome is what must happen. I will try. But how could I ever go through with it? Hogwarts has been my home as much as it has been everyone else’s. I have to try, for mum. _

_ I feel like all I’ve done is disappoint you. Despite never talking to you in a polite way. I can’t seem to stop apologizing to you, even though I’m aware you’d never forgive me. Please go somewhere safe after all is done, I beg of you. _

_ Sincerely, _

No, it can’t be.

The slant to the words, the loops of the letters. His father’s alive, his mum’s in danger. The task he’d been given at the end of June, 1997.

She quickly opened a random one from the year 1998.

_ January 1998 _

_ To Her _

_ I walked among the school as my peers look at me in disgust. As they should. As they get tortured and beaten by Death Eaters who’ve taken over the school and our studies, I remain untouched though often mocked and bullied by both sides.  _

_ My failure to complete the task had brought my family dishonour and the Dark Lord was utterly disappointed. While he gives me small tasks in attempt to gain his trust and praise back, I can’t seem to do anything right. I’m forced to punish my fellow classmates and even my bloody professors whom I’ve idolized since I was 11. _

_ I hate myself. I hate what’s become of this school and the Wizarding World. It’s my fault. Seems selfish of me, to hate myself and hate my life when I’m barely being as affected as my classmates and professors are. I chose this, I suppose. I don’t deserve anything better. _

_ Now I must do what I can to survive, to ensure mum stays alive as well. At this point, I do not see my father as I once did as a young boy. He’s broken beyond repair, his mind is burnt from the countless of Cruciatus Curses and other hexes the Dark Lord had given him in retribution for my failure. _

_ I’m unaware of where you are, or what you’re doing. I hope you’re safe and well, to say the least. No one is really safe anymore nor are they well. I hope you can find joy in little things. I know you and your brain will end this. Keep going, Hermione, whatever it is you, Potter, and Weasley are up to. Don’t give up and please, don’t come back. _

_ Sincerely, _

Hermione’s heart was beating loudly and quickly once again. She felt hot and sweaty, unable to think clearly anymore.

She opened another.

_ April 1998 _

_ To Her, _

_ I can’t bring myself to write anymore. All I see is your blood trickling down your arm, and your body motionless as you lay in the middle of my drawing room. I should’ve done something, I should’ve hexed that fucking bitch, I should have gave my life for yours. I would have gladly done so. I don’t know why I didn’t and I can’t apologize enough. It’s all my fault. _

_ I gave up my wand to Potter, it’ll never be enough to make up for everything, but I know you’ll use it well. Keep going, Hermione. _

_ Sincerely, _

She opened the very last one, needing to read the end of these. Needing to be absolutely sure she’d seen this penmanship else where.

_ May 1998 _

_ To Her, _

_ He’d finally been defeated and I feel as though I can finally breathe. The light at the end of the tunnel shown bright, and all the darkness that coursed through my veins disintegrated and flew away with the wind. I feel like I’ve been a piece in a Wizard’s Chess game; still, unable to choose my own moves, and facing the consequences of the choices of others. But today, I am a person. _

_ Freedom, however, is not given. How would muggles say that? It’s not in the cards. We won’t be free to roam about the Wizarding World as we once were, but I wouldn’t call that freedom either. My mother and I were never really free, we’d both been pawns. But now, not having to answer to the Dark Lord, or my father, I consider that enough freedom.  _

_ Mum and I are currently confined to the Malfoy Manor as we go through our trial. I am to pack some belongings and we’ll be sent either to Azkaban or else where to carry out our sentences.Though, I deserve Azkaban more than anything, I was as involved as my father was. _

_ Despite what my sentencing will be, none of this would have happened if it weren’t for you, Potter, and Weasley. You all saved the Wizarding World and so many lives, including mine. Thank you. _

_ I’m unsure if I can ever really be accepted by anyone anymore. The things I’ve done to people, the tasks I carried out for the Dark Lord. No one will see me as anything but a Death Eater. I’ve accepted it, I suppose. I don’t think I’d forgive me either. _

_ You get to live your life without fear and thrive in the world you saved. I’ve never been happier for anyone as I am for you. You deserve this; a life without darkness, without torturing, without weak people like me who blindly follow evil. You deserve happiness, to carry out your passion, to have a family and children. Keep going, Hermione. The world is yours. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Draco _

She was crying by the end of it. It was him, all along. Every thought, every guess, was wrong. It was Malfoy who had written to her for all those years. Sharing details of his personal life, expressing his feelings of fear or admiration. It all came from her school-nemesis and colleague.

She didn’t know how to feel, what to think. Malfoy liked her, and she had no idea. He watched her every single day and she never noticed. He noticed her laugh and the way she carried herself, and even admired her for it. She felt seen, heard, appreciated.

She wanted to see him, needed to. Quickly walking over to her dresser, she wrote a letter to Harry.

_ Harry, _

_ Something came up and I was wondering if Malfoy is allowed any visitors. Please get back to me as soon as you can. _

_ Yours, _

_ Hermione _


	8. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to get the next chapter out as soon as I can! Comment, point out inconsistencies, typos, or any suggestions! I love and appreciate all the comments I’ve received and it makes me feel like I’m doing something right. Thank you so much!! Enjoy

_ Hermione, _

_ I talked to the healing Aurors at St. Mungo’s, currently they’re only allowing family to visit with Malfoy for the next 2-3 weeks. I’m not sure what came up, but I apologize for the inconvenience. Hope you’re well. Owl if you need anything else. _

_ Harry _

Hedwig had come the following Monday. Though she expected this answer, it still disappointed her all the same.

Hermione sat at her work desk with the end of her pen at her lip, reading over more of Malfoy’s notes.

Why was she so affected by these letters? Discovering someone had taken a liking to her in her younger years when she barely saw herself in that kind of light, it was flattering. And not just someone, it was Malfoy, a boy who had made her question her magical abilities and belongingness within the Wizarding World.

She didn’t even know what she would have said if she could visit Malfoy, anyway. Asking him if he’d written them when his name was signed at the bottom of the last one, if he still felt the same as he did before. It would’ve changed nothing. She was with Ron. It would be foolish to ask if nothing could come out of it. Even if she wished something would, there’s still a chance he or his mother could have notions of keeping the bloodline pure.

She’s with Ron.

As of late, she doesn’t understand why she has to keep reminding herself that she is. Spending time with a significant other, growing alongside them through adulthood, learning more about each other as both change and grow; Hermione felt that that played a vital role in a healthy relationship.

Perhaps Ron and herself grew out of each other. Or they just needed to spend more time with each other. This is what scared Hermione, she didn’t know which one they required.

Taura walked in around around Hermione’s desk with her afternoon tea and leaned up against it. “You alright?”

A sigh left Hermione’s lungs before she could inhale to reply, “As good as I’ll be for now.” She pushed back her work and leaned back into her chair.

“What was the verdict on Malfoy?”

“He’s at St. Mungo’s, in the psychiatric ward. Harry managed to get him there safely. He says Malfoy’s well taken care of; safe and recovering.”

“That’s a relief. I’m glad he’s okay.”

Hermione nodded while biting the inside of her lip.

“You’re still worried.” Taura inspected her body language and her tone of voice, which she always seemed to do fairly well.

With a shrug of her shoulders and a downward curl to her mouth, Hermione replied, “He was seconds away from killing himself, how could I not be. He’s severely depressed and suffers from extreme PTSD. His own mind belittles him and tears him down. I just hope he realizes how good of a person he really is.”

“You care for him.” Merlin, Taura could see through her like a ghost.

“Course I do. I can tell he’s changed, no longer the small little git he once was. He’s grown out of old habits, I suppose I don’t only care for him because I feel sorry for him, either. He’s bright and intelligent. He made a great acquaintance, a great colleague.”

“No, there’s something deeper. I can sense it.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned red in embarrassment. “I.. I don’t know.”

Taura gave her a soft smile and nodded, seeming to understand that she needed to figure out her own feelings before she could speak of them. She left her alone for the rest of the day to read Malfoy’s notes, and she made notes of her own off of them.

When she arrived home, it smelt of her favourite homemade meal; chicken and potatoes. Crookshanks purred against her feet as he attempted to walk toward the kitchen.

“Ow, bollocks.” Ron was standing in front of the stove, attempting to make a gravy from the chicken droppings.

“W-what’s this?” Hermione asked.

“Merlin, Hermione, you scared me half to death,” he looked back at his gravy, which in his eyes looked to be about as close as gravy as it’ll get, “I came to make you your favourite meal.”

She was still a little upset about their argument on Saturday. They barely spoke yesterday, just a few owls back and forth about small talk and gossip.

“Yes, but why?” She stood, still confused.

His mouth gaped as if he were trying to find a reason why, but quickly closed as he wiped his hands.

“This is my apology, for being a foul git. Once again.” He looked back and realized he hadn’t turned the oven off.

“Why do you suspect you were being a foul git?” Hermione sat at her bar, knowing fully why he was but needed to hear him admit it.

“W-well the things I said about Malfoy and Death Eaters. I suppose you were right, about me being wrong. I hadn’t had any interactions with any of them, or anyone for that matter, since after the War.” He walked closer as he talked, “I haven’t moved past the War, or grieved properly. I think I went into dragon-training to take out the emotions I’d been feeling, all the pent up stress and sadness.”

He stood looking at her across the kitchen island. “I never gave anyone a chance, really. I felt almost scared to. I understand that they were forced, and I can’t hold grudges forever. I’ve come to realize that holding grudges was more destructive toward myself than they were protective.”

“And you came to that conclusion over the span of two days?” While she was glad he’s finally seeing it her way, she was still skeptical.

“Well, deep down I’d known. I have to get over the War at some point and I have to accept everything that happened. I just never knew how to, I guess fleeing the country was my way of coping.”

Hermione nodded, understanding his reasoning and coping mechanisms. “He really isn’t that bad. Malfoy.” Ron looked at her intently, “He’s contributed quite a bit of useful work to the S.P.E.W. that I’m grateful for. He even found a book that I’d never read regarding the mistreatment of House Elves.”

“And... and working with him, isn’t as horrid as I would imagine?” He asked rather awkwardly.

She shook her head, “He really has changed. At first he was closed off and only kept to himself, much like he was in our last years at Hogwarts. But he’s opened up and began to really give valuable contributions to the Law I’ve been building.”

He nodded, seeming to understand. “And he really hasn’t been giving you a hard time?”

Hermione lifted her shoulders as she put her lips between her teeth, “He hasn’t called me a mudblood or gave me that death glare he was always good at. He seemed to want to work with me and build this new Law as much as I have. He’s matured, and wanted to have a normal life again.” She looked down, feeling guilty about the parts she’d left out. His face an inch away from hers, his hands like a feather on her skin, his eyes. Those god damn eyes. She cleared her throat, “It’s been going well.” Then she thought of where he was now, “Rather, it was going well.”

Ron nodded, “Harry told me what’s happened. A shame, it is. No matter who it happens to.”

She nodded as well. “I was only worried, he was a good colleague. We all have our ways with dealing what had happened during the War. You turned to challenging your abilities with dragons, Harry turned to helping people, I turned to sticking my nose in books. It all effected us, one way or another. I suppose some of it is due to survivor’s guilt, but we’ve all been coping. We still are.” She looked at Ron, “Even the ones who were on the wrong side of the War.”

“I am sorry for how I reacted. I’ve barely been around everyone, and when I came back it sort felt like we were still there. Like we were still in a War.” He looked at her apologetically.

She gave a small smile, “I understand.”

They ate together, sharing great moments once again. Doing as best friends do after an argument, laughing at how they’d both acted and put it behind them.

Hermione couldn’t put it behind her, however. It bothered her that if that’s how Ron reacted toward former Death Eaters, then many others shared the same opinion.

•••

Throughout the week, Ron began to open his mind and had grown used to the world as it is now. No more War to be fought, no more hiding to be done, no more worrying.

Hermione was happy that he was finally seeing the world as she saw it; free. They’d gone to coffee shops, Muggle museums, and even saw the rebuilt Diagon Alley. It looked exactly the same, though Ollivander’s had a different owner but still upheld the name. Knockturn Alley was still dodgy, but not as much as before. As in, Death Eaters didn’t lurk about it but rather alcoholics and forgotten wizards and witches. Though they did meet up with a certain half-giant, which brought happiness to them all.

They spent the weekend at the Burrow, and Hermione was beyond happy to see everyone together again. She’d talked to Ginny, not about Malfoy or the letters which she terribly wanted to, but about how well Ron is adjusting and how happy they are about him being back. She told George how happy she is for him and the shop with all its success. Even talked to Molly and she’d mentioned how thankful he is for Hermione.

At night, however, Hermione’s thoughts caught up with her as they always did. She had been owling Harry to ask if he had heard how Malfoy was doing, if he’s making any progress. He always informed her that he was, and she must stop worrying.

At work, she’d been reading the text Malfoy had left her and she wrote an extensive amount of notes on it. With each paragraph and page she read, she grew more grateful for him. She finally felt as though she was making progress and felt the Law was nearly ready to present.

She missed his insight and up front opinions and questions. She missed how he challenged her. She missed having a colleague, someone to share excitement about a breakthrough with.

Another week had passed and Ron and her had spent every day together, whenever she wasn’t at work of course. Even then, he would show up for lunch and then pick her up at the end of the day.

He was trying, and adapting really well. It’s all she ever asked her, and she was happy. But she would be lying if she said there wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t think of Malfoy. She would wonder how the treatments were going with the healing Aurors. If he was smiling, showing all of his teeth or just a grin. If he was reading. If he was getting along well with others or if he was keeping to himself. 

Hermione was half way through writing another letter to Harry when Ron came by for lunch.

“Hello, love. I’ve bought us some sandwiches from the shop down the street. A shop called Knuts and Firebolts. Odd name for a place where everything costs a galleon and some sickles and the service was quite slow if you ask me.” He held up a bag along with a cup of coffee for her.

Pushing aside the letter and her notes, she replied, “Oh thank you, I’ve been wanting to try out that place.” She grabbed her coffee and sandwich from him and began to eat.

Ron looked curiously at her desk, turning his head every which way to read the notes scattered across it. “What were you writing to Harry?”

She nearly choked on her sandwich, “I was going to ask him how Malfoy is doing.”

Ron looked at her and slowly began to nod his head. “You haven’t heard about him since?”

“I have, I just wanted to see if he’s making progress.”

He nodded once again. “I’m sure he is if you haven’t heard anything from the last time you wrote.”

He’d seen her letters to Harry for the past couple weeks on her desk and on her dresser in her bedroom, but he never spoke of them. He wasn’t sure how to bring them up, whether he should feel jealous or not. He’d seen the way she would jump up at the sight of Hedwig at the window. He knew it was a letter regarding Malfoy.

His worries and insecurities grew the longer it went on. 

On a Sunday morning when he was finished making breakfast, he looked at Hermione as she ate her waffles with a vacant look. He imagined she was thinking of Malfoy. “How is he?” He asked.

Hermione came back to her senses and looked at him with wide eyes, “Who? Malfoy?” She pushed her scrambled eggs around on her plate.

Ron nodded and noticed she tried to find an answer as she ate, “Harry said he’s doing well. He’s been going to see him almost every week.”

“I’m sure he’s still doing fine. You shouldn’t worry about it too much, ‘Mione. I can see what it’s doing to you.”

“It’s just hard to not worry, after having to worry about everyone during the War. It’s as if it’s wired into me.”

“I can understand that. But it’s Malfoy, you know? He has the support of the Aurors, his friends, his mother. You shouldn’t concern yourself with a problem that’s being taken care of.”

He was right. Hermione knew he was. This wasn’t her problem to worry about, and as Harry said there was nothing she could do. It wasn’t like she could rid herself of this worry, though. She couldn’t help it.

After a couple exchanged sentences about work and other topics, Hermione had gone to shower and get ready for lunch at the Burrow.

Ron was heading upstairs to join her as well when he accidentally tripped over a box when turning the corner toward the staircase. One of the flaps swung open and revealed a heap of letters. He bent down to get a better look. He remembers them, from when he came back to visit a while back.

Looks as if Hermione had opened and read some. He picked up the one from May, 1998. His stomach dropped, his chest burned, and he suddenly felt like his breath was caught in his throat as he read through the whole letter.

_ Sincerely, _

_ Draco _

Sadness and anger taking over his body, he read previous ones that she had opened.

_ Your smile is so beautiful. The way your mouth gapes, eyes squint, and head rolls back as you laugh stops me in my tracks every single time. _

_ Imagining is the only thing that keeps me sane now, I suppose. Imagining there’s a normal future for me is what gets me through everything I do. A future with you. _

How dare he claim he feels this way with all the horrid things he had done. To Harry, to himself, and most of all to Hermione. He was angry, furious, wanting to take a trip to St. Mungo’s and yell at the white-haired freak until his voice gave out.

He stood with the last letter that was written, still staring down at the box.

Was this why Hermione was so worried? He heard her deep breaths and whimpers while she was dreaming. Or rather, having nightmares. All he could assume was that they were about the War, or something else. Now all he could think of was her dreaming about Malfoy. These letters confirmed his thoughts.

Ron had felt their relationship was slipping, he could feel the communication decreasing bit by bit. She hadn’t even told him who was working for her when they brought former Death Eaters into the Ministry, it was Ginny who did. He barely knew what she was up to these days, what she did on her down time. They barely even talked then.

Hermione was always it for him, she was always the one he would end up with. But what if she didn’t feel the same anymore? These letters could change everything. Bloody hell, they’ve already changed everything, haven’t they?

He noticed she’d been distant, barely seeming engaged in any activities they do. Ron knew she was worried about Malfoy’s well-being, but didn’t know this was why. She had feelings for him. How could he be so blind to it all?

“We should go to the grocery store after we get back, we need broccoli—“

He looked at her with the letter in hand, not recognizing the woman who stood before him. Her eyes looked down at his fist which was crinkling the letter.

“Ron—“ She looked back up at him.

He held the letter up in front of her face, “Is this why you’re so worried about him? Because he had feelings for you and now you feel the same?”

Hermione began to panic. Of course these letters had surprised her but she never would like someone like Malfoy. Of course not. Never.

“No, Ron, I didn’t figure out it was him who sent the letters until after he’d been sent to St. Mungo’s.”

“Hermione, you’ve been acting different and defensive even before that. What’s going on?”

Hermione didn’t know. She didn’t know what was going on with her, and she was just as confused as Ron was. Every second of the day she worried about Malfoy so much so it haunted her dreams. She couldn’t eat without thinking about what he’s eating, she couldn’t sleep without thinking about how uncomfortable his bed must be, she couldn’t go a day without wondering if he’s going to be okay.

“I don’t know, Ron.”

“You don’t know.” Ron nodded in disbelief. His whole life, this girl was in all his thoughts and dreams. His whole life he envisioned his life with her. Now she’s hiding love letters from him. Letters from Malfoy. Now she’s defending him. Wanting to know how he’s doing every day. This hurt Ron, it angered him and hurt him more than anything ever has before.

He threw the letter down at the box and proceeded to the door to grab his coat.

“Ron, no, stop. You don’t understand! He’s a coworker and I was excited to finally have someone to share this great thing with. Someone to work with.” She followed him to try and talk some sense into him, though her mind was jumbled with anything but sense. “When you hear someone was a second away from hurting themselves, it affects you, Ron. It affected me in a way I couldn’t predict, I didn’t know it would worry me this much.”

Ron listened to her, and he tried to understand. He tried to rationalize her behaviour and her reasoning. But he couldn’t keep lying to himself. “You have feelings for him, ‘Mione. Any blind fool could see it if they heard the way you talk of him.” He turned back to her while putting on his coat. “You defend him, you keep in touch with Harry to see how he’s doing. Merlin, Hermione, you asked him if you could visit Malfoy at St. Mungo’s!”

She gasped slightly. “Yeah. I saw your letter to him. Harry was with Ginny at the Burrow when you sent it.” He turned toward her.

Hermione felt as if her world were falling apart. She loved Ron, and very thing she had been hiding from him is revealing itself. Everything that made her comfortable and stable in this new world, suddenly was being taken away.

“I-I just wanted to see how he was doing. It means nothing, Ron. I swear, it means nothing!” Unable to move her feet, she stared at him as he crossed the floor toward the floo.

“If it meant nothing Hermione you wouldn’t be acting this way. I know when something’s off, and I can see the look in your face. It’s not nothing. I know that now.”

“Ron I swear on my life—“

Something came over Ron. He was done with this nonsense, “Then choose,” He snapped back with a stern voice while slowly walking toward her, “Choose, Hermione.”

“Choose? What, c-choose what?” A tear slipped down her face, her entire world being held together by a single thread.

“It’s me or him. I can’t keep lying to myself and rationalizing your behaviour.” He stood tall and stern.

Hermione was broken now; torn between choosing her desired future and something she’d never thought she would want. But she does. She wants it, she wants Malfoy and she knew she had been lying to herself as well.

But Ron was her everything. Ron was the rock that kept her stable, the anchor in this hell-ridden ocean storm that she called life. She loved Ron more than anything she’d ever loved before.

“I...” With tears in her eyes she spoke, “I choose... you. I choose you, Ron.” She whispered, looking at him with pleading eyes. She needed him, without him she didn’t know what she’d do.

He studied her for a few seconds, almost wondering if what she said was true. “I’m not sure if I believe you, Hermione.” He looked down, his chest burning even more with the sudden ping of sadness and heart break.

Hermione nodded. “It’s... it’s you, Ron.” Her eyes were looking at him, but he could tell her thoughts were elsewhere, as they usually were as of late.

He walked to stand right in front of her, looking down at her wet cheeks, furrowed eyebrows, and frown. “Hermione. You either choose me and forget about him, or you choose him and I leave.”

Hermione broken their eye contact. She couldn’t stop worrying about Malfoy even if she tried. But in saying that, it means she loses Ron and she doesn’t think she could bare to lose him.

“I can’t just stop worrying about someone.” She grew offended and defensive once again. It’s her nature to worry about people, she’s had a saviour complex about her that she couldn’t get rid of, even when she was younger.

Ron’s heart broke in a million pieces as she said that sentence. He nodded as he looked down at his shoes. His whole world, too, had fallen apart. “Then I have to go.” His voice broke as he talked.

Hermione shook her head as she looked at him. “Ron,” she whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand, “Don’t. Please.” She looked at him, the love of her life. Her chest burning and her head pounding from the swelling of her tears.

Ron looked at his broken, long time best friend turned girlfriend. He loved her. With all his heart, he swore he’d never love anyone as much he loved Hermione. But Harry’s words were engraved in his mind.

_ Like she wanted to save him herself. _

That was something he couldn’t look past or get over.

He looked at her. “I love you, Hermione. I do. But I can’t keep giving myself to someone who only reciprocates less than half of what I give.” He was barely able to get this out without cracking his voice or crying. He, too, was teary-eyed. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” Was his last words before he floo’ed out.

Lost. Blind. The sadness overcame her, she couldn’t fathom that she had lost her best friend. Her rock. The only person in this world she felt completely comfortable around. And it was gone, just like that.

She doesn’t even remember what she’d spent the rest of the night doing. She was completely disassociated with the world. She felt numb, cold. As if all the emotions left her body. Most of all, she felt alone. Like she was the only person in the world who could feel this level of pain. and she felt she deserved it.


	9. Ending and Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: talks of suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts. Comment, suggest, point out typos or inconsistencies! Thank you and enjoy!!

Hermione’s days passed like a blur, the residue from her tears and the puffiness of her eyes from her crying making it difficult to see anything she attempts to do. She called in sick to work for the past week, needing the time to come to terms with what had happened.

One day she found herself in a routine of eating breakfast at noon and enjoying a firewhisky at 1 pm. After a few days of this, and on which she assumed was a Saturday or Sunday, her floo roared with green flames.

She looked behind her, more curious than she was scared that an unexpected guest came into her home in the early afternoon hours. She would’ve been more scared if 2 glasses of firewhisky weren’t already flowing through her bloodstream.

A dark-haired witch walked through with two bottles of wine and take out, and to Hermione it was like she saw an Angel.

“Hermione, love,” Taura gave an apologetic smile to her friend who was laying on the couch with her cat. She scurried over and set everything down before looking at her, “I thought we could have a girl’s night. It might help. We could talk, we could not talk, we can drink.”

Hermione felt warm, happy for the first time since Ron left. “Thank you, Taura. Really.” She sat up with a struggle and offered Taura a glass of the wine she’d brought. “If I knew you were coming I would have cleaned myself up a little bit.” She laughed as she looked at her attire a bit embarrassed; a ragged jumper and fuzzy pyjama bottoms with a bird’s nest for hair.

She sat back down with two glasses and started to pick at the take out she’d brought.

Taura looked at her broken friend. Eye bags as if she hadn’t slept in days, knotted hair, rugged clothes, a blank stare as if she had no thoughts or emotions. She could tell Hermione had been forcing smiles and upheld a happy facade for the sake of avoiding questions and judgmental looks.

Avoiding the basic questions such as, ‘are you okay?’ and ‘How are you holding up?’, Taura dug deeper, “It was Malfoy, wasn’t it?”

Hermione looked up instantly at the sound of his name. She thought for a bit, almost not knowing the answer but quickly found her train of thought, “I believe it was a factor.” She replied with a small nod, taking a sip of her wine.

“I know you’re very hurt about Ron. I can understand why. But like I said before, I could never picture you both together.” Taura said softly, hoping Hermione wouldn’t take offence to her bold statement.

Then the dam that Hermione didn’t even know she held up bursted, “He was my best friend since I was 11. We’d been through so much together and I feel like a piece of my soul has been broken off and destroyed. I don’t know what to do, what to think. Am I still able to be friends with Harry? Do I go back to being friends with Ron or is everything completely done now? Even our friendship?” She sobbed. She thought of Malfoy, though. Even during her heartbreak. “What if I do have feelings for Malfoy? What happens then? I’d denied it when Ron asked me if I did, it would seem like I lied to him.” She cried even more.

“It’s all very new Hermione, I’m sure he’s asking himself the same questions. With what you both have been through, I think in time you will return to know each other as best friends. But for now, you need to worry about yourself and pick up the pieces.” She held the Golden witch’s hands as she talked to her with soft words.

Taura had always knew the right words to say, whatever the situation was. While it did make Hermione feel better, she couldn’t stop thinking of Malfoy.

“You don’t have to admit it right now. But I can see it, Hermione. You care for him. Malfoy. And I believe the feelings of worry you have toward Malfoy was a mask for the true feelings you have for him.”

This was new and scary for Hermione. Listening to the words her closest friend spoke, she began to think. When she saw Malfoy for the first time, it was like memories were unlocked and she was a school girl again. She hated him and everything he had done and thought, but she couldn’t help but think of all the times she found amusement in the quiet, witty comments he made in class when he got frustrated. She couldn’t help but admire him, in Kingsley’s office, swallowing his pride and attempting to integrate back into this society, though he felt he had no place. When he was sent to work for her, she couldn’t help but think of the way he strolled into her office, just as all those guys did in her Muggle movies did. With a confident sway to his step and a straightened posture like he owned the place. When they studied texts together, she couldn’t help but drink in his matured features, though they were quite sunken in. As they discussed, she couldn’t help but appreciate his challenges and questions, as well as his articulated thoughts and opinions. She also couldn’t help but enjoy the silkiness of his deeper voice as he talked.

He’s handsome, intelligent, clean, funny, sarcastic, challenging, closed off, rude, and completely difficult and hard to figure out. But she wanted him, she had feelings for him and there was no denying it any longer. She couldn’t help it.

Everything in her ‘dirty blood’ warned her not to. But she did. She enjoyed the way they bickered, and the way he would doubt her intelligence. She liked how he carried himself, proud and true. She liked the way he produced such useful work, and contributed to her discussions. She liked how he paused to look at her as they were about to kiss, as if she were too pure to touch.

“I do.” She finally admitted as she looked at Taura.

Her friend nodded with a reassuring smile, “I know, love.”

Hermione was still lost, though. She had feelings for Malfoy and it felt like another weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She couldn’t help but wonder if she should visit him or not. Attempt to talk to him about the letters. The letters.

“It was him.” Taura looked at her confused but she continued, “It was him who wrote those letters.”

Taura’s eyes widened, which they seemed to do a lot lately. “He wrote you those love letters.”

“I.. wouldn’t call them love letters. But yes, he wrote them.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? I’m not one to jump from one guy to the next in an instant nor would I suggest you do. But, I mean. These letters seemed like he had feelings for you as well, did they not?”

“Yes, but, who’s to say he still feels the same way. I doubt he even knows I have these letters, he’s been living in a secured Muggle house somewhere in London for the past two years without magic.”

“Ah. It would be up front and uncalled for, I guess, to approach him about them then. Especially in the state he’s in now.”

Hermione nodded, having thought on this as well. She didn’t want to upset Malfoy if she did visit him and brought up the letters.

“In my current state as well, I don’t feel comfortable moving on like this. Not right away.” Her heart still ached for Ron, and he didn’t deserve anything that might worsen it, such as her beginning to talk to Malfoy in a more-than-colleagues way. Ron deserved better.

“Still, though. I don’t think visiting him to see how he’s doing would hurt. It might make you feel better, relieve you in some way.”

Hermione had thought about visiting Malfoy when he was allowed other visitors, but wasn’t sure how Ron would take it. Though, even now, it would feel wrong to visit. But Taura was also right, it would make Hermione feel better to see for herself how he was doing. Maybe she would consider it later on when she’s better.

They spent the evening together and talked about Hermione’s relationship with Ron. All the goods, all the bads, anything and everything.

Hermione came to terms with everything that night. She recognized that Ron had possessive and jealous traits that belittled her and made her doubt herself. And while she did love him, she realized that she felt almost relieved that she wouldn’t have to feel that way anymore.

She lied awake that night and thought even more. Seeing Taura was a breath of fresh air, much better than the stuffy air she’d isolated herself with for these past few days. Her mind cleared and she was finally able to see things for what they were. Ron and her bonded over years of friendship and the traumas endured during the War. She began to wonder if it was real love, though. She loved Ron, but she often wondered throughout their relationship if she loved him as a close friend more than her boyfriend. Whenever they’d kiss or be intimate with each other a couple months after their first kiss in the Chamber of Secrets, there was an awkwardness that began to surround them, it never felt right. Maybe that’s why they never held hands or showed PDA. Because it was never right and they both knew it, but needed each other around. Maybe their entire relationship was a result of everyone’s insinuations and pushiness, everyone always thought they’d end up together and so automatically, they thought so as well.

She didn’t belong with Ron and she could see it now. They didn’t have much in common and had entirely different lives they wished to live. They were best friends, and she enjoyed their laughs and little friendly arguments. But being in a relationship was too much, she thought. Being in a relationship with Ron wasn’t what either of them needed; their friendship is what they needed.

Maybe she would contact him at some point, to meet up and explain this. Maybe he even felt the same. However, she knew she needed time to heal. Taura was right, it was time to piece herself back together.

•••

_Harry,_

_I’m sure you’ve heard of what happened. I wanted to say that I apologize if it has caused a rut in our relationship or even your friendship with Ron. I’m doing well, and I’ve begun to function almost normally again._

_However, I feel as though there is one more thing to do. Please don’t tell Ron about this, though. Is Malfoy still only allowed family members as visitors? If not, I would like to check in on him. I feel it would ease the worry I still feel._

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

Nervously, she sent it off before she headed to work. She knew she needed to see him and she felt as though she were stable enough now.

She arrived at the Ministry and gave a smile and wave to Taura, who returned two thumbs up and an enthusiastic smile.

She opened the door to her office and was surprised as she spotted a former Slytherin sitting in front of her desk. He looked back and stood instantly, looking out of place.

Speechless, she breathed out, “Blaise. Zabini, hello.” She walked quickly to shake his hand.

He nodded back, “Granger. Or—Hermione, sorry.”

She walked behind her desk, “To what do I owe this... sort of, pleasure?”

He watched her sit in her chair and he quickly did the same, “I assume you heard about Malfoy.”

Panic once again coursed throughout her body, sending waves of sickness and sweat. “What’s happened to him? Is he okay?”

His eyes bulged when he realized it sounded as though something bad had happened, “Oh no, he’s okay. He’s doing really well, actually. He’s getting discharged in 2 weeks. That’s what I came to tell you.”

Not even a wave but an ocean of relief hit Hermione. “Oh, good. I’m glad.” She sat silently, looking at Zabini who looked like he needed to say something else, “Is there anything else?”

He looked at her, “I heard that you and Weasley are no longer together.”

Growing awkward, she nodded, “I’m not sure how you heard that, and I’m not sure I want to know. But, yes. What is... the importance of it to you?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to get lunch with me. If that’s not too much to ask.” He spat rather confidently.

She choked on her morning coffee that she found on her desk, “I’m sorry, what?” Merlin, and she thought he was the one to send anonymous secret love letters to her.

He cleared his throat and smiled. Oh, he has a nice smile. “Lunch. I was wondering if you’d have lunch with me.”

She was single now and she didn’t realize with being single, it meant she’d be able to go on dates and talk to others. Who weren’t Ron. She wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with it. However, she had feelings for Malfoy, and felt as though it wouldn’t be right to project her feelings onto another person. “Well thank you, Blaise, I didn’t realize you... felt that way. But, I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s the right time for me to be going on dates.”

He smiled again and looked at his lap, “Can’t blame a bloke for trying. The offer still stands, though, whenever you’re ready.” He stood and swaggered out of her office. Did all Slytherins possess the same walk?

This was new to her. Not being single, Merlin, she spent all her years at Hogwarts being single. Except for the small entanglement she had with Victor Krum. No, it was the fact that other people would be attracted to her and would make advances such as the one she just experienced. It made her giddy and excited, but more so nervous. Was she supposed to turn down people if she didn’t like them how she liked Malfoy? She hadn’t even given herself a chance to learn to like them, though. And she wouldn’t meet anyone if she turned down everyone because of these feelings she had for Malfoy. Even then, who said she had to meet people. Maybe she wanted to be independent for a while, focus on her work and the Law. But God damn it, she had feelings for Malfoy! Merlin, bollocks, shit. Bollocks, this is too much.

Hermione quickly evacuated her office and ran to Taura’s desk, “Taura. How in Godric’s name am I supposed to do this?” She panicked before she sat in the seat across from her.

Startled, Taura fumbled paperwork that she was filing, “Merlin’s sake, Hermione, do what?”

“Be single, how do I be single?” She emphasized with her hands waving about. She looked like a crazy person to those walking by.

“I-I don’t know, go on dates, go to bars, treat yourself to self-care nights, get a vibrator!” She yelled in a whisper, noticing those looking at both of them with concerned eyes.

“How am I supposed to do this with I have feelings for—wait, do you... have a vibrator?”

Taura rolled her eyes, “Hermione, you would be surprised with how many women own one. Even guys have one for their—“

“Okay! Okay,” she whisper-yelled back. “But I mean, how am I supposed to do this when I have feelings for Malfoy.”

Taura shrugged as she thought. “Going on dates wouldn’t be so bad, Hermione. But if it’s bothering you this much, maybe going to see him would help. As I said before, there’s a lot of uncertainty that you’re feeling and it’s mainly due to the fact that you haven’t gone to see him even once. I’m sure it’ll help.”

“I sent an owl to Harry asking if he’s able to have other visitors, he hasn’t gotten back to me yet. And Blaise Zabini just asked if I wanted to have lunch. I don’t know what to do.”

“He asked you to lunch? What did you say?”

“Do you think I’d be asking you all this if I had said yes?” Still panicking, she looked around to see if there were any eavesdroppers.

“Okay, Jesus, I would say see Malfoy first, then see how it all pans out.”

Hermione took a big breath and nodded. “Okay. Just go see him, and-and talk about what exactly?”

“Ask him how he’s feeling, maybe bring up the letters, I don’t know. I’m not so good at talking to guys either, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, bollocks.” She squealed in anxiousness and dread, she put her head in her hands which were sitting on Taura’s desk.

“Hermione, just calm down. It’ll be fine. This is all new to you and it’ll all work itself out. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, strong-willed woman. You’re going to have a few admirers, believe you me. You’re the Golden girl, brightest witch of her age. You can handle this.”

“Yeah, yes,” the reminder of her reputation did give her self-esteem a boost, but she only got it because of her logical thinking and her quick problem-solving skills. Not because she was the most eligible bachelorette. “Oh, Merlin, Taura.” She put her head down once again on Taura’s desk.

“Hermione, I say this as your best friend, you are very attractive and if I swung that way I would make advances on you myself. Now please, have your freak out about your new-found dating life elsewhere. You’re getting sweat on my files.” She shooed Hermione away with an amused smile.

“Thanks, Taura.” She stood and slumped as she walked in attempt to gain sympathy from her friend.

She read Malfoy’s text and his notes along with it, picking up where she left off. Godric, she loved how well he wrote. She supposed that was a strange thing to get excited about, but after reviewing the baby scribbles and incoherent, jumbled thoughts of Harry and Ron for many years, she loved it. It was so neat.

Hedwig appeared at her window with a letter just then. No matter how many times her letters arrived from Harry, it always startled her. She jumped up and grabbed the letter.

_‘Mione,_

_I heard from Gin. I’m so sorry about everything. I know you and Ron tried to work it out, but I feel like you both were at different points in your lives! I completely understand, and nothing in this world could ever break our friendship. I love you, Hermione._

_As for Malfoy, he is allowed other visitors now, and good news! He’s getting discharged in 2 weeks. I’m not sure if he will come back to work or not, but he has been doing very well nonetheless._

_Let me know if you need me, I’ve been told I’m very good at listening._

_Harry_

•••

St Mungo’s looked like any other hospital she’d seen. White and blue exterior, weird people out front smoking and in wheel chairs.

She walked through the entrance and to the front desk. “I-I’d like to see Draco Malfoy.” She gave a small smile.

The nurse smiled at her as she looked through her files with a flick of a wand. “Okay, perfect,name?”

“Hermione Granger.”

The nurse looked up at her in amazement, “You’re... you’re Hermione Granger?”

She stood nervous and replied, “Um, yes?”

The nurse squawked at her reply, “I’m sorry, you’re such an inspiration, would it be too much to ask for your autograph?”

She smiled awkwardly, “Of course not.” She signed the nurse’s paper with the signature she’d perfected when she was 12 and with some direction she was sent to the psychiatric ward.

“This is his suite, he should be in there.” The male nurse assured as he lead her to a room.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him as she looked back at the door.

Behind this door was the man she cared for, the man she’d been thinking of for weeks. The man she had feelings for.

No, no. This was a colleague she’d been worried about. She wouldn’t act as though she had feelings for him, she would act as if she were a concerned superior. A colleague, she reassured herself. She was beyond nervous, she was shaking.

She knocked. Oh my god, she knocked. Her heartbeat was in her ears, she could’ve sworn her entire face was tomato red.

With the turn of a doorknob, he was revealed to her. She looked up from her shoes to lay eyes on him.

He was healthy, filled out, and normal. Better than normal, actually. He wasn’t a skeleton anymore. He had gained weight, the weight going toward his muscles and face. He wore grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his hair was a mess atop his head. She doesn’t recall ever seeing him look so casual in her life.

He was beyond handsome. Gorgeous, attractive, in fact. The way his hair was tousled yet entirely perfect, the way his muscles flexed as he leaned with a hand on the door frame and the other holding the door open. There were no bags under his eyes, nor was his skin pale. Well, he still had a light complexion but he no longer looked deathly. His eyes were still as blue as the coldest night, and his—

“What are you doing here?” He asked as if he weren’t expecting her. Of course he wasn’t, she hadn’t owled anyone about her visit or told him she was coming.

“I...” Why was it she always found herself speechless around him and him only? “I came to see how you were doing.”

He stood still holding onto his door, not letting her in. “Well, I’m doing fine.” He said rather defensively and harshly.

“Okay, good.” She looked around at her surroundings. A coffee mug, hand sanitizer. “Can I come in?” Hospitals made her nervous.

He looked back at his room and then back at her, almost as if he was annoyed. “I suppose.” He opens the door to her as he stepped back.

She took his room in, clean and organized with the exception of his desk. It was a mess of scribblings and sketches, like he was drawing and writing something down.

“I was quite worried about you.” She looked back at him as he closed the door and walked past her to his desk.

“Oh yeah? Well there’s no need.” He said with his back turned, attempting to tidy up the scattered papers.

She searched her brain in hopes to find a topic to continue the conversation, assuming she would have to carry it, “I assume you’re doing much better then.”

Setting the pile down neatly on the corner of his desk, he turned back around with crossed arms, “Much.” He replied with no emotion.

“Well,” Merlin, this was a mistake, “Okay, good.” She repeated herself. She took him in; his lips looked soft. Almost as soft as the time they’d almost... and like in the dream she had.

“I had a dream about you.” Hermione, Merlin. What is wrong with you?

He raised his eyebrows, “That’s nice. What exactly was your intention coming here today, Granger?” His face was as bored and emotionless as it was when he first stepped into her office.

“I-I just wanted to check in on you.”

“Yes, but you’ve already said that. And now that you see I’m fine, what’s your real intention? Because I’d like to get on with my day.”

While he looked better, but acted like a git again. It was like he reverted back to his old self, like how he was in Hogwarts. Rude, defensive, a real knob. This angered her, all she wanted, or hoped, was to have a civil interaction with him about his well-being. “I’ve been worried sick since you’ve been admitted here. I was going to disapparate myself from work to ensure your safety that day. You were all I could think about since then, for Merlin’s sake!” She spat.

He stood straight and walked towards her, “Waste of your time it was, worrying about me. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine.” She spoke loud and stern, “You were seconds away from killing yourself!”

“And I didn’t succeed! Did I?” He looked down at her with furrowed eyebrows.

Take aback by this comment, she looked at him confused, “So you still have those kinds of thoughts then, if you consider someone saving you a failed attempt to end your life.”

He ran his hand through his hair as he turned away from her again walking toward his desk chair and sitting, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It was Harry who saved you.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” He mumbled as he fiddled with a pen.

“He told me everything.”

He exhaled through his nose as he gripped the pen tighter, “So much for information being fucking confidential.”

“I’m sorry you ever felt like you don’t deserve another day on this Earth. I really am. And I’m—“

He stood from his desk, bumping into it and knocking a few of his belongings over, “That’s enough, Granger!” He yelled, “If I wanted a fucking pity party I would’ve killed myself sooner! Stop talking to me as if you know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know, and you’ll never understand.”

She didn’t know what she expected when she made the decision to come visit him today, but it definitely was not this. Her heart cracked after weeks of attempting to piece it back together. This wasn’t how she wanted them to be, she wanted the Malfoy who was excited to work with her, she wanted to Malfoy who held her cheek.

Her eyes began to swell with tears and she looked down to hide it from him.

She wanted the Malfoy who smelt of vanilla apple and mint, the one who laughed at her when she was hungover, she wanted the Malfoy who was going to kiss her. But this wasn’t him, not anymore. He’s turned cold and emotionless, as if he’d put up a wall.

“Well, I’ll let you be then.” Her voice cracked as she attempted to hide her brokenness. She walked quickly to the door and opened it, but had to take one last look at him. “I only wanted to know if you were really okay, but I can see you’re not. I hope you find it within yourself to heal from everything you’ve been through.”

He looked at her with red eyes, as if he, too, were holding back tears of frustration and anger. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed before he began to speak, “Alright. Have a good day.” He turned back around and sat still.

With that, she left. That wasn’t him, she thought. That wasn’t the Malfoy she’d grown to like. He had a wall up to protect him and his feelings. Hermione was determined to break it down.


	10. Black Holes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts. DO NOT READ IF THESE TRIGGER YOU.
> 
> This chapter falls short, I apologize for that. I wanted to inform readers that I will be travelling once again due to a family issue, but I’ll try my best to have the next chapter in soon! Also, shoutout to leigh99 for the idea regarding ‘To Her’ with the letters. Comment, suggest, point out any typos or consistencies! Enjoy!!

Black holes are known to be the vacuums of the universe. Swallowing every star, planet, and cluster of rocks that crosses its path into the darkness and nothingness that it possessed; or so it’s theorized in the Muggle studies done about them. Draco’s new-found fascination was the advanced theories and hypotheses of Muggle science, especially regarding astronomy and space exploration. His name was based on a constellation, after all. The Wizarding World had their own version of the whole study, of course, but they were able to discover everything through magic.

In spending two years on probation and house arrest, he grew to respect and appreciate the inventions of Muggles, along with their determination and discoveries.

He learned how to operate a coffee pot, a telephone, a laundry machine, and even a funny thing called the Internet. All while these Muggle scientists had built a spacecraft and managed to make it land on an asteroid for the first time, which he saw on a Muggle television program called, ‘The News’. It was almost like the Prophet, except it aired on this little Muggle contraption called a television.

Based on everything he had read, Draco felt as though a black hole was the best way to describe what being a Death-Eater felt like. It was as if he had been pushed to pass by one and his desires, hopes, and dreams were sucked out of him and stretched into nothingness.

Ever since he was a young boy, he knew his place in the Wizarding World. He understood his pureblood family wasn’t good in the sense that the Weasley family was. He had vague memories of meetings that his father would hold with hooded members of what he now knew were loyal Voldemort followers. He remembers being shooed away and carried out by either his mother or one of the house elves. Though, he didn’t know what those meetings were about at the time. They happened often throughout his childhood though. As he grew older, his mother would say father was working, and then she would take him out to watch him practice on his broom and then they spent the afternoon together. Talking, having lunch in the garden, laughing. His mother was always his saving grace, and was one of the only lights he had as the darkness consumed him when he grew older.

His father instilled in him that he should never interact with Half-Bloods, Muggle-Borns, or Muggles, nor should he ever reproduce with them. He was superior, so was his father and his father before him. 

He stuck to the same friend group, having grown up with them before they attended to Hogwarts. He would bully and pick on those who he found unworthy to be in their presence. He knew he was nothing but a spoiled, loathsome bully. But he enjoyed it.

However, Hermione Granger to Draco Malfoy was like what Kryptonite was to Superman, which he had also learned when watching the Superman series on Muggle television. It was an epiphany to him, finally being able to put into words his connection to Hermione Granger.

He watched her closely and intimately all those years in Hogwarts. He saw how she would scrunch her nose and tap her quill on the piece of parchment when she had to think about a challenging question on a test, he watched how she gulped pumpkin juice every afternoon for lunch, he watched her as her eyes grew wide in transfiguration class, absolutely amazed by the magical abilities of each and every person in the class.

Her voice was rich with intelligence and her talk was extensive as if her brain was an encyclopedia, even when she was the mere age of 11 years old. She could say a single sentence to a simpleton and have them confused for days on end if she wanted to. In any situation she found herself in, she was able to perform basic speechless spells and recall incantations of saviour. He’d heard stories of their stupid Trio, and how she was the backbone of it all. He wasn’t surprised, though. She never surprised him. He knew everything she was and everything she was capable of. It scared and excited him all the same.

And that’s why he always loved her.

Draco Death-Eater, stupid git, bully, completely-full-of-himself Malfoy, loved the Golden, insufferable, confident, always-had-to-be-right Hermione Granger.

Except he projected these feelings as hate rather than admiration. Because he knew his father would kill him if he acted on these feelings. He would ‘dirty’ the blood line, and that was forbidden as many pureblood marriages are arranged a few years after they graduate.

He never knew how to express emotions well, now that he thought about it. Whenever he would cry, his father would punish him and tell him that Malfoy’s didn’t show such vulnerable emotions. Whenever he was happy, his father would say his achievement wasn’t good enough or that he shouldn’t be happy about something so stupid. He was belittled often for simply having emotions, which resulted in him being unable to show them appropriately.

On the outside, he displayed a constant bored, unimpressed look which he adopted for when he was in the presence of others. A wall he’d put up. His aunt, Bellatrix, told him to never show fear and to file away all his thoughts and memories within his mind. This made him the skilled Occlumens that he was. However, deep down, he was screaming. His emotions were loud, distracting, fleeting about. He was feeling every emotion at once, and had no idea how to handle it.

When it was set that he would receive the Death Mark the summer after 5th year, he began to write letters. He never planned on sending them, but instead used them as more of a journal entry. He found it helped relieve him from his own emotions and mind. He thought of the only person he’d want to confide in, to spill the components of the deepest parts of his mind to. Hermione Granger. He was going to address these letters to her, but as he began the letter with full intentions to write out her name, he stopped at ‘To Her’. He choose to keep it anonymous, open to interpretation. Making it seem that these letters were addressed to any girl, in case someone finds them.

Of course, he did everything to avoid this happening. As the years went on, he wrote more letters, and hid them in a drawer inside his closet at the Manor with a disillusion spell. He hoped his elves wouldn’t find them, but even if they did he knew they wouldn’t say anything. They were hidden, until he was sentenced to house arrest and probation and was relocated to a Muggle house. 

He doesn’t know what’s become of them, or where they are to this day. He assumed the Ministry had them, since the Aurors swept the entire place after they were relocated. He only hoped they weren’t sent to her. He would be beyond embarrassed if they were. As if he would actually have a chance and were able to have everything he talked of with her.

After he and his mother were sentenced, he felt empty. As if all the thoughts, emotions, feelings he couldn’t handle were gone. The wall he’d built over all those years still stood strong, although it was guarding nothing now. Useless and purposeless; he didn’t know what to do with his days anymore. He attempted to take up reading, sketching, learning to use the Muggle items. With the exception of going to the bathroom, he stayed in his room for the first few months, too exhausted to talk to anyone. His mother would send Dotty, the house elf that was relocated with them as part of the bargaining deal with the Ministry, to give him meals and to check in once and a while, but that was all the interaction he would part take in. 

As the months went on, he fell deeper and deeper in to that black hole, stretching into nothingness. His motivation to get out of bed, to eat, to shower, everything was gone. Eventually, his will to live, too, was swallowed into the black hole. Days turned into nights, and then nights turned into days. He watched the sky change colours as the sun rose and set, and stared at the craters of the moon for hours until it faded.

His mother would come in to ask him if he fancied a stroll about the small garden the Muggle house had, as they were no longer in house arrest. However, neither of them left the property still. She would mention how thin he’d gotten and asked if he wanted to join her for the lunch Dotty was making, the one she used to make when he was younger. But he stared out the window from the spot on his bed that he barely moved out of. Shaking his head, he didn’t say a word. Not having the strength to even form a reply to his mother.

Life after war was supposed to be peaceful, quiet, and was supposed to bring relief. People were supposed to relish in it, thrive and live their lives without fear. They were supposed to return to a new society, and if they were one of the lucky ones, they would find love and create a family. Live their happy ending they’d always dreamt of.

Draco felt anything but. He was a criminal of war. He participated in crimes he regretted every single day. He understood he had to pay the price for what he had done. In fact, he deserved to be in Azkaban, rotting away like his father. He deserved worse. Death was what he craved, for everything he knew to come to an end.

One winter night when the night lasted it’s longest, the drawer of kitchen knives began to look tempting to him. The knife shimmered in the moonlight as he rotated it in his hand and he carried it to the bathroom. The black hole swallowed him whole, finally. This was what he deserved. The rest of the night was a blur to him. He heard his mother’s cries, Dotty’s snaps of apparition, and several other voices.

“ _That’s my son, save him, for Merlin’s sake, save him!”_

_ “Drink this, Malfoy. Swallow it. That’s it.” _

_ “Come on, Malfoy. Stay awake for a little bit longer. You’re not dying tonight, I’m not letting you.” _

_ “He lost a lot of blood, Mr. Potter. He’s lucky you got to him when you did.” _

_ “Draco, my boy, I love you.” _

He woke in St. Mungo’s, with his mother by his side and Aurors outside his door. After a week, he was sent back to the stupid Muggle house. While he got better, that emptiness never left him. He spent more time outside of his room; exploring the small library his house possessed, learning about Dotty’s life and family, talking to his mother daily. 

On one afternoon when he sat in the library completely immersed in the universe that this Muggle Shakespeare author created, he heard a strange noise. It wouldn’t stop, it was quite an annoying ring. He searched his house, following this sound. The sound came from this weird Muggle item on the kitchen counter that was connected to the wall by a cord. It had a handle with a spiral cord connecting it to a small black box with buttons on it. He picked up the handle and the annoying ringing stopped, thankfully. He heard noise coming from the handle so he put it to his ear.

_ “Hello? Is anyone there?” _

Confused, he replied _“Um, yes. I’m here.”_

_ “Draco Malfoy?” _

He brought it away from his head and looked at the handle, what the fuck was this?

_ “Yes, this is Draco Malfoy. Who... who is this?” _

_ “Draco, this is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I’m the Director of the Ministry of Magic. I wanted to inform you that I, along with some others, will be coming to your house today to inform you of an opportunity for people like you; those on probation.” _

_“Okay,”_ he was still so confused about how this little machine worked, _“May I ask what time?”_

_ “In about 20 or 30 minutes. I’ll see you then.” _

_“Okay.”_ Suddenly the handle went quiet. He put down the handle back on the machine.

A group of wizards arrived at his house and offered him and his mother positions at the Ministry of Magic, as part of a new program they planned to launch for those on probation. It was their opportunity to integrate back into society as well as lessen his probation sentence from a year to 6 months.

While this excited Draco, he couldn’t help but feel scared. He didn’t have a place in this new society, he knew no one would accept him. His family were the closest to the Dark Lord, and everyone knew it. Despite this, he accepted, wanting a purpose in life. His mother, on the other hand, declined, needing more time to adjust to the life they were given. It seemed she enjoyed it, being magic-less and Muggle-like. She knew he needed this, however. _“It’s okay, Draco. I’ll be here, I always will be.”_

He found himself alongside his former best friend with sweaty hands and a loud beating heart. He and Blaise caught up in Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office before Kingsley joined them and told them what was expected of them.

As they were finishing up, the door opened with force and a certain witch walked in. _“What’s the purpose of this, Kingsley?”_

He could’ve recognized that voice anywhere. She looked more mature, and her figure had filled out into a more womanly shape. Her hair was more tame that it had been, and she talked with more fire than before if that was even possible. She was fucking beautiful. A Shakespeare quote instantly intruded his brain, Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. And it was true. 

She looked at him, and he instantly looked away. Looking at anything except her. Awkward, scared, confused, excited, embarrassed. All the emotions that were sucked from him were spit out from the black hole and given back, all at once. 

He memorized her during those few seconds he did look at her. That night while he lied in bed, she never left his mind. Complete natural beauty was always hard to come by, but Hermione Granger carried it all and more. To him, she was the human embodiment of every sonnet that Shakespeare wrote of true beauty. Merlin, she was even more. There was nothing and no one that compared to her. She was more than a summer’s day. She was all the stars and all the planets that the universe held perfectly in place. To him, she was the universe.

But he wasn’t the one she belonged with. He didn’t deserve to gander upon her. She was too beautiful, too pure, too fucking good for him as she always was. To his very core he understood this.

When he was sent to work for her, he grew nervous, upset, and above all, he was scared. The wall he still upheld was now used to hide the feelings he felt toward Hermione. He acted cold, bored, and distant. She was his superior and that was that. Maybe he’d work here for a little while to get back on his feet, and later on he’d be able to carry out the rest of his life in a different field. This was temporary, and he was not to get attached.

As they worked together, he never looked her in the eye. He kept his distance and worked on the topics she’d given him on his own. Her work was fascinating, and he grew a personal passion for it since befriending his house elf, Dotty. He worked day and night, finally having a purpose again. He was going to help the Golden witch free these elves if it was the last thing he ever did.

But when she suggested they work more closely together, his wall began to fall down brick by brick. Conversing with him as if nothing had happened, the War, the bullying. She seemed almost forgiving of him, actually giving him another chance. They worked surprisingly well together, able to bounce ideas and opinions off of each other like table tennis.

He almost forgot what he felt like before, he forgot what it was like to feel empty. Because Hermione filled him with wonder, fascination, and motivation. He was excited to wake up and see her face. His wall was almost completely broken down.

Then he found himself, inches away from the face he’d dreamed of. He was drunk off of her scent, swimming in the pools of caramel that were her eyes. Her skin was so soft, her lips looked inviting. Everything he felt since he was young led up to this moment, he wanted to show her he loved her. He wanted his lips to fall onto hers and he never wanted this moment to end. As he was leaning in, she didn’t stop him. She didn’t stop him!

As his luck would have it, an owl crashed into the window of her office and in an instant, the moment was over. He looked at the window and Weasleby’s stupid owl was waiting with a letter in its beak. Of course, he thought. How fucking stupid of him. He didn’t deserve her. A war criminal was all he’d ever be. 

He ran. Out of her office, out of the Ministry; back to his house and before his mother could finish her sentence he’d locked himself in his room.

How could he be so fucking stupid. He’d never deserve her. She would never accept him, he was only a colleague to her. She had the Weasel, she didn’t fucking need him. No one needed him. Those feelings that she had made him forget over the little time they worked together all came flooding back. He didn’t deserve this life.

He would leave in the mornings so his mother wouldn’t worry, snuck back in, and wasted his days once again staring out his window. Around the time he had once came home from work, he would get dressed and sneak outside through the window, and enter the house again through the door.

One day though, he couldn’t leave his bed. The depression engulfed him and the black hole was back once again to swallow him whole. The darkness he felt when he was tasked with murder flowed through his veins once again. He was nothing. And he deserved it and he was ready to meet his fate.

The life he thought he could have was a lie he created in his head. He was lying to himself this whole time. How stupid, how fucking stupid.

He looked over at his nightstand and found a clock. 8:56 am, it read. He unplugged it and stood from his bed, looking over to his closet at the hanger rod with the clock cord in hand.

He was right ready to end it all, end all this suffering and lies. Then his door burst open and that bloody Potter walked through. He saw red, and once again it was all a blur.

_ “Don’t fucking try, Potter. It’s done. I don’t deserve anything.” _

_ “Draco, my love, put the bloody cord down!” _

_ “Malfoy, everything is okay. Just calm down.” _

_ “Fuck off and let me do this. I can’t take this anymore.” _

_ “Stay the fuck back!” _

_ “Let’s take a walk, Malfoy” _

_ “I don’t want to take a bloody walk.” _

He was petrified and was suddenly in St. Mungo’s once again.

His mother would visit, he would have healing Aurors work on his mind, and Potter would drop in once and a while.

He felt numb to it all. No emotions, no thoughts. He felt better but still the same all at once. He would have group meetings, he would have therapy, and he joined others in the psychiatric ward during free hours. He was okay again, but still recovering.

After weeks of the same routine, he opened his door to see a brown-haired witch that held a worried look on her face. His wall was built tall again and acted as though nothing were wrong.

She was still beautiful, beautiful as ever. But she was with the Weasel and he told himself to stay at a distance.

His desk was where he found himself after she left. After he snapped on her. His heart was beating and he held back tears. Because he wanted to confide in her so badly, more than anything. But he couldn’t burden her with everything he was feeling. She didn’t need that, no matter how much she wanted to know if he was really okay.

She needed to go back to her life. Her life was fine, she didn’t need to worry about him. He would figure it out, or he hoped he would. The S.P.E.W. was what she needed to focus on, not him, not what had happened. Not anything regarding him. She was better off without him, and she should stay that way, no matter how how much he loved her.


	11. Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers. Sorry for the delay, I was planning out a more exciting plot for this story. Comment, (pls pls pls) share with friends, suggest anything, point out any typos or inconsistencies!!! Enjoy

Being lost in your own hometown is a lot different than the kind of lost you feel when in a place you’ve never been before.

There’s a sense of comfort that keeps you stable when lost in your own hometown because there’s the certainty that if you keep driving, you’ll eventually end up in a place that is familiar and safe. While in a place you’ve never been before, being lost feels suffocating and panic takes over because there’s no familiar or known destination.

Hermione knew there would come a time her life without Ron would return to normal. Though she was still repairing the internal injuries that came with heartbreak, she was aware that she would return to a comfortable and stable life afterwards.

However, with Malfoy, it was a challenge. She couldn’t read him like she had with many other people before; his body language and face expressions changed constantly. He would sound annoyed with her, but then engage in intellectually challenging conversations with her. He would ignore her all day, then enjoy making fun of her for being hungover. He would almost kiss her, and then act as he did when she visited him at St. Mungo’s. He was on either end of the spectrum; never in between. These were the twists and turns of Draco Malfoy that Hermione couldn’t map and it just became that much more intriguing to her.

It wasn’t that she was hurt over the way he’d acted, no. Surprised, definitely, but not hurt. She understood his behaviour. She understood why he was so closed off and distanced himself from anyone who could possibly hurt him. She deducted it was a defence mechanism that he’d built during his time serving as a Death Eater. Hermione herself had built defence mechanisms after the War as well; diving head first into books to escape reality and holding onto a dead-end relationship being some of them.

Breaking down Malfoy’s walls again became something she prioritized, something she was determined to do whether he wanted her to or not. She knew there was an entirely different person underneath the broken mask of the former Death Eater, she could feel it with everything she was.

It was a Monday once again, the Ministry was vibrating with the mumbles and whispers of the employees.

The Law she’d been preparing for two years was almost complete and ready to present, and she couldn’t be more proud of herself. Out of winning the War, fighting Dragons, Trolls, Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself, building this Law is what she is most proud of.

She looked at her stacks of notes and organized them into files, a giddiness filling her. Two years of hard work, determination, and dedication is what got her here, where she’s dreamt of being. While it’s not nearly as big as setting all Elves free, this was definitely a step in the right direction. More independence for Elves is all she wished to come out of this.

While it seemed like the entire universe was against her, she felt nothing but pride. This was the best she’d felt in weeks, no longer drowning in sorrow or guilt. She strutted through the halls of the Ministry toward Kingsley’s office with her head held high.

Knocking thrice, she waited until Kingsley invited her in. The door opened and yet another Slytherin walked through. The dark-haired witch scoffed at the sight of Hermione.

“Ms. Greengrass.” She addressed her rather professionally without any disgust, as she was surprised to see Astoria Greengrass at all in the Ministry of Magic on a Monday afternoon.

Hermione watched her strut off toward the floo’s before she focused back on Kingsley. “Sir,” confused and flabbergasted about who she had just faced, she continued, “I was coming to talk about a court date for my new law proposition.”

He nodded as he offered her a chair before his desk. “I thought you would be coming to me soon. You’ve seemed to make great progress by your lonesome, I’m very impressed. Though, you are the brightest witch of your age, so I’m not too surprised.”

She always blushed when people called her that as they complimented her work, always grew flustered and speechless.

“Yes, well it is something I’m rather passionate about. The work only increased my interest more.”

“I will talk to those at Wizengamot and our lawyers here, I’ll follow up with you when I hear a response.” Kingsley smiled at her and she nodded before she rose from the chair.

Stopping at the door, she turned back, “Thank you, Kingsley. For allowing me to do this. I don’t know what I would’ve done these past two without the S.P.E.W.”

He nodded knowingly, “It was our pleasure, Hermione. You’ve turned it into something we always believed you could and more.”

On her way back to her office, she noticed a head full of red hair within the crowd.

When she turned around after talking to Taura, her face grew into a sympathetic look, “Hermione, love.”

She cringed when people sung that sentence with an empathetic ring now, ‘Hermione, love.’ As if she were a broken and distraught person that wasn’t able to heal.

“Ginny, what are doing here?” There were too many surprises occurring today.

“I came to pick you up for the rest of the day. Taura here said it was alright.”

“But,” she looked at Taura with a confused look, she’d only been back for a full week, she couldn’t take a day off. Taura only shrugged and smiled.

“But I’ve only been back a short time.” She looked back at Ginny.

“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny rolled her eyes as she linked her arm, “You often forget who you are.”

Ginny dragged her out of the Ministry and flooded them to Hermione’s place. Hermione didn’t fight but she was confused and reluctant.

“You’re a proper pig.” Ginny exclaimed while Hermione stood embarrassed, she wasn’t expecting guests on a Monday evening.

Pairs of pants and jumpers scattered across the floor and over her furniture, with dishes she’d forgotten to wash from a couple days ago filled her place.

“I... wasn’t expecting anyone.” She attempted to justify her mess.

“Let’s have a sleepover upstairs.” Ginny still stared at the mess that was the first floor. She pointed to the cupboards, “Grab some snacks and beverages and we’ll have ourselves a nice girls night, yeah? Also, grab some firewhisky.” Ginny left and made her way up the stairs, hoping that her bedroom wasn’t as bad as the first level of Hermione’s home.

Hermione did what she was asked and followed Ginny. She was sort of nervous about why Ginny was doing all of this, why she took her out of the Ministry and made her take a day off. At the same time, she was happy to see her friend. The Hollyhead Harpies must have given her the week off if she asked for firewhisky at the early hours of 11 in the morning.

Ginny asked about Ron, about Malfoy, about the letters and Hermione confided in her. She didn’t hold back and told the ginger witch everything she felt. Everything she felt and everything she didn’t know she felt.

They fell asleep cuddled beside each other, as best friends do, at the mere hour of 7 in the evening due to the considerable amount of firewhisky they’d both consumed.

•••

The following day, the street looked empty and normal, nothing out of the ordinary. The attached houses in the south London neighbourhood were quaint with some chatter of children and the background noise of the loud televisions filling his ears. Harry and the other two Aurors that the Ministry had sent with him walked forward, investigating.

“Potter, don’t you think we should invade these houses here?” One asked.

Harry never paid much attention to the names of the wizards and witches that the Ministry sent with him. He thought it’d be a waste of time, especially if they were to get killed. After the War, he grew weary of getting to know anyone else personally. What he had, the people he knew, that was enough.

“We’re just checking this place out, not looking for criminals,” he looked at the wizard, who was swaying back and forth nervously, “Stop looking so suspicious, look more lost, like you’re trying to figure out which street your aunt’s house is on.”

He grew annoyed with everyone the Ministry ever sent him. They were fresh out of Auror training and didn’t know how to handle themselves. He was never one to think he deserved better than others, but he thought with his reputation, they would at least put him with experienced and veteran Aurors. But no, he was stuck with the new Aurors.

Harry heard shuffling and leave crackling in an alley near by. It wasn’t hard to miss, there was barely any wind today nor was this a busy street. He stopped and ordered the others too as well, trying to listen more intently.

“N-now what?” The other one whispered.

The noise stopped. Must’ve been the children, he rationalized. He kept walking.

Harry looked at the Auror with his annoyed frown that he wore on his face most of the day. “We walk. Merlin’s beard.” He shook his head. He kept is eye out, though, as old habits would have it.

They act as if this is a big mission. The Ministry only told them to check out this place, to see if there’s any suspicious occurrences. This was homework that the veteran Aurors did not want to do, this was child’s play. Harry was compliant and annoyed, and saw nor heard anything else.

He walked in front of them, looking back and forth at the different buildings and the alleyways that separated them to be completely thorough.

Suddenly, the right side of his forehead scorched, where he scar was. He hadn’t felt this since his time at Hogwarts. It was like in first year... when it burned, but he had no idea why.

He looked back at the two Aurors, to see if they were doing anything to him because he knew he’d been rather mean. He looked at the buildings, to see if anyone had been casting a spell from the windows. He looked on the sidewalks, the streets. Everywhere. 

Voldemort was dead. He knew that for a fact. He was dead and there was no way to bring him back. So there’s no way the reason why his scar burned was in relation to Voldemort. He had killed him, Harry watched Voldemort’s body deteriorate into ash, into nothing.

The stinging intensified and he began to feel dizzy and nauseous. He inhaled sharply as the stinging took over his body and mind. The Aurors looked at him strangely, both confused.

It was impossible, Harry thought. Unable to think anymore while facing this unbearable pain, he quickly grabbed the two Aurors and disapparated them back to the Ministry.

A crowd gathered as Harry yelled and screamed in pain, the stinging spreading from his forehead throughout his body and the disapparation only making it worse. He felt like he was on fire and dipped in a frozen lake all at once as he rocked back and forth on the floor. The pain seared throughout every nerve, every vein, every artery, and through his heart to be pumped through everything all over again. With every cycle of pain he felt his conscious slip even more and suddenly he was blinded, everything fading to the deepest black he’s ever seen.

Kingsley pushed his way through and began yelling orders. “Get the emergency healing Aurors at St. Mungo’s. You two! You tell me what happened this instant. Taura, where is Hermione?” Kingsley asked Taura who were both at Harry’s side.

“She’s on her lunch break. I-I don’t know.” Taura looked at the Chosen One as he convulsed on the Ministry floor, making sounds of what could only be interpreted as extreme pain, he’s eyes rolled back, “I’ll go find her.” Panicking, Taura struggled to stand on her weak legs and instantly disapparated.

Hermione wasn’t looking for any book in particular, she simply liked to admire the extensive collection the Ministry owned. She would sometimes take her lunch breaks here and wander aimlessly, the smell of new and old parchment filling her nose. 

Suddenly her name was being called and before she could turn to face them, she was being disapparated with them. Scared and out of natural reaction, she attempted to split from whoever had a hold on her as they travelled. However, this person had a firm grip around her and she was unable to.

When they landed, Hermione took her wand and put it into the neck of her captor, only to realize it was Taura.

“Taura,” her eyes widening with realization and surprise as she retracted her wand, “I’m so sorry, you scared me.”

“It’s okay, it was my fault I was panicking.” She was out of breath as she spoke. “I’ve been looking for you for ten minutes.”

“Looking for me, why?” She inched.

“Come on.” Taura grabbed her hand and ran into St. Mungo’s, where they had apparated to.

Kingsley, two Aurors who she hadn’t seen before, Ginny, some other Ministry employees, and... Ron. She took everyone in and stood awkwardly as she and Ron made eye contact. They hadn’t spoken since their break up. He looked good, great even. He had his red hint to his cheeks and his shoulders slouched slightly, not out of sadness but as his natural posture had always been.

She walked closer to everyone and looked at Kingsley, “What’s happened?” She took a second look around again, “Where’s Harry?”

The silence that came over everyone as she asked the latter question was deafening. Taura’s mouth opened to explain, but she hesitated and looked at Kingsley with an anxious frown to her eyebrows. The Aurors also looked at Kingsley and swayed back and forth nervously. Ginny looked down with a vacant, teary stare as she clung to Ron’s arm, who was giving Hermione a worried look. A worried look she’d seen before. His eyebrows curled, his lips were scrunched at the right side of his mouth, and he looked at her through his eyelashes.

“Kingsley,” her heart of beating in her throat and once again, she felt the cracks in her recently healed world begin to crumble, “What’s happened?”

It was like he were asleep indefinitely. The healing Aurors performed a variety of tests on him since he was brought into their care. Ginny, Ron and herself were the only ones allowed in the room as these tests took place. Spots of him showed a red light when they searched for dark magic and mental issues, indicating that there’s something wrong. However, when checking for broken bones or sprained joints or anything physical for that matter, it all showed green. 

That’s what confused them all. Physically, Harry was healthy. Magically, he deteriorating. Even the healing Aurors couldn’t make sense of it. The magical being and the physical human being are meant to be one. It was peculiar and unusual for the magical being and only the magical being in Harry to be suffering as it was.

Hermione left Ginny and Ron to comfort each other as she headed out of the room.

Of course some people are born magical, and for others it sets in later in life. For the latter, they identified as human for the first 10 years of their lives, not a witch or wizard. Human was all they ever knew themselves to be, as did Harry and Hermione. Well, Harry was born with it but he never knew it. They had their Muggle being, which held their personality, likes, dislikes, school grades, and more. Then there came their magical beings; which held their magical abilities, intelligence, and awareness. So maybe she unconsciously separated what makes her up, her human being and magical being. And maybe that’s what’s happening to Harry, except his body is separating them.

But then again, these components together made up who they were, they were meant to be intertwined for as long as they live. So why is only one part of Harry decaying? Is it possible for magic to disappear from a person? To be taken away as quickly as it was given?

Of course, there was one explanation, but it was impossible. He was dead, disintegrated to dust. His curse rebounded, he was gone and everything after was peaceful. So it was impossible. But was it really? One could never be too sure in this magical universe.

Hermione’s stomach dropped as the thought entered her mind. Could he really be attempting to come back?

Merlin, no. He was dead. He was dust. This has nothing to do with him. She was overthinking as usual. Harry’s just feeling ill but he’s going to be okay. The hospital will figure out what’s wrong and they’ll heal it.

“Granger, you talk aloud when that oversized brain of yours thinks too hard. It’s very annoying, please shut up.”

She jumped as she came to and looked at her surroundings. The psychiatric ward. Of course her brain would unconsciously choose to make her wander here. Draco was sitting on the floor outside his room, reading a book. Quickly, she turned away.

Frozen in her spot, she stood with her back toward him. “Sorry.” Sorry? Really? Last time you were here, he was the rude one. And now you’re apologizing for speaking out loud? Pathetic.

“Here for another checkup?”

She scoffed at his cockiness and instantly turned to face him with her arms crossed. “That’s rich, but no. I’m not. I was just thinking and ended up here while on a walk.”

“You unconsciously ended up outside my room? How sweet.” He said without even looking up from his book to acknowledge her.

She thought she had feelings for him, maybe she still did. He made her feel things no one else has. But maybe it was just an infatuation, maybe it was just all new and exciting to her. Maybe it wasn’t real at all. She grew frustrated with whatever version of Malfoy this was, not that she glorified the unhealthy version of him either. But he could be nice and funny when he wanted, but she wasn’t sure anymore. And after everything she’d been through thus far and after weeks of trying to understand Malfoy, she understood he’d have a hard time being that person again. She would try to break his walls down at some point, if he returned back to work, if they had any chance to interact as they once did. But for now, she had other worries.

“I must be going.” She replied, realizing that a reaction out of her was what he wanted. But she was done taking the bait he’d often put out. She began to walk away.

“Granger,” Draco almost pleaded as he stood quickly and looked at her, instantly regretting it too. But after all the therapy and group discussions he’d been a part of, he knew he had to do this.

She turned to look at him with the annoyed expression she mastered when dealing with Malfoy, “What?” She spat, but still a part of her was holding onto the Malfoy she knew by a string.

“I’m sorry. For my outburst. When you first came here.” He said uncomfortably. Like he was going to puke after he said each sentence.

Taken aback by his words, she stood quietly with her lips between her teeth. She nodded once, “Thanks, Malfoy,” her guard was still up high, but she still had a heart, “I just wanted to know if you were okay. Truly okay, and not just... lying to everyone.”

He smirked at her statement, “I’ve done nothing but lie my whole life, but I’m not lying when I say I’m truly doing better.” He confided in her, finally. Finally saying something meaningful. Showing the truest and deepest parts of himself.

She gave a small smile herself and nodded once again. She was still weary and hesitant around him, unable to figure out how she should act or behave.

He stepped forward, “You... you can come back. Anytime you’d like.” Then an instant facade was put up, “I mean, if you want to.” His shoulders broadened as he attempted to look tall and unbothered.

She started backing away from him, nodded for the third time before she turned around and made her way back. How does she get back to Harry’s room from here? She remembers turning right... somewhere. And possibly taking an elevator. But also maybe she took some stairs.

“To the left and take the elevator to the 2nd floor, if he’s in the intensive care unit.” She heard Malfoy yell down the hallway. Did she really talk out loud when she thought?

•••

Ron, Ginny, and herself sat in Harry’s room. The sound of the heart rate monitor being the only sound that echoed throughout it.

“It couldn’t be... You-Know-Who again, could it?” Ron spoke for the first time to seemingly Ginny _and_ her, as before it was only Ginny. He looked to her for an answer.

“I thought of it as well. But there would have been rumours, wouldn’t there? And we saw Harry beat him ourselves, with our own eyes. We saw him disintegrate into dust.” She shrugged. “I just feel as though people would be speculating and gossiping about it. Like they did last time.”

“Dad would have heard something at the Ministry even if it was gossip. They take it very seriously this time around, any talk of You-Know-Who I mean. Even if he is dead.” Ginny added.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Ron nodded, but a worried expression still hung on his face.

Hermione fell asleep in the chair beside Ron, and Ginny on the chair beside Harry’s bed. Ron however, stayed awake. Looking at his best friend. The years of sharing a room at Hogwarts and a room at the Burrow, he knew when something was happening to Harry.

He was sweating, Ron noticed. And at times, he would toss and turn with an expression on his face that indicated he was in pain. But instead of the whispers of parseltongue, Harry was silent. That was one thing that comforted Ron. That Harry lost his ability to speak parseltongue after You-Know-Who was defeated, creeped him out it did.

Something was wrong, Ron felt it in his gut. Harry’s not one to drop on the floor, screaming in pain. Harry had a high pain tolerance, much higher than he did. So for Harry to be screaming in pain and to pass out, he knew the level of pain he was feeling was higher than anything he’d felt before.

And Harry was a skilled duelist with quick reflexes. He saw it first hand in the War. If anyone came up to him and began firing hexes, Harry would be able to take them on without a sweat.

Something was very, deeply wrong with his friend. And it was eating Ron from the inside out, bothering him to no end. He couldn’t handle another War. He knew he was thinking ahead of himself, but nothing good ever happened when Harry was like this. 


End file.
